


Play'd

by RueRambunctious



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Acting, Actors, Adorable Richard, Alcohol, Bodyguard, Friendship, Jealous Severin, M/M, Minor Violence, Protectiveness, Richard Brook was REAL, Swearing, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-22 09:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 23,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8281808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RueRambunctious/pseuds/RueRambunctious
Summary: Just because you're an actor doesn't mean you can tell when someone's playing you. Just because someone's playing you doesn't mean that you can't trust them.Jim makes Richard change acting company to stay anonymous, and it's ...lonely, at first. Then not at all.(Set before Richard stars in 'The Storyteller' or meets Kitty Riley.)





	1. Chapter 1

Richard is used to doing every damn thing his brother tells him to. Jim says jump and Richard sure better know how high. That's how they are.

But that certainly doesn't mean Richard has to like it.

Richard had liked his theatre company. He'd been working together with them for years. Jim permitted it, providing Richard never drew undue attention to himself.

They share a face after all.

But it is _hard_ to be an actor, being part of a team, wanting to give your best and always having to hold back, just in case. Don't draw attention. Don't suck, but don't shine. Don't be too good.

Apparently Richard wasn't holding back enough.

And now Jim has made it clear on no uncertain terms that Richard will not be seeing his acting company ever again.

Jim's found Richard another one. More obscure. Less likely to draw critics who might stick a photo online or in print.

Jim thinks Richard should be grateful.

Richard is just tired.

But acting is the only think that's his, and he'll go mad without that. Something of his own. Somewhere for expression (however repressed).

Jim humours Richard with the pretense of an audition with the director and writer slash female lead (evidently screwing the director). Richard wonders whether the pair think he actually has any talent at all, or if Jim hasn't even let them think they're taking Richard on by choice.

The director is cold and impressive, and the woman is cold and self-absorbed, so it's hard to tell.

There's a junior and adult company affiliated with the run-down little theatre, and it gets used for dance recitals as well. There are photos of tiny ballet performers on stage cropped into cheap frames and hanging from walls that the public get to see.

Richard feels a little sick walking into the theatre to meet his new company for the first time.

He's not entirely sure it's worth it. What if he makes friends again, only for Jim to find issue with something?

Richard's life isn't really his own. He had no business counting his old company as his kin.

Everyone in the new company stares when Richard walks in. They're sitting around in a circle, evidently perfectly familiar with each other.

Richard feels like an interloper.

The director stands. He's dark-skinned, strong in body and voice, and he makes Richard quail a little inside as he booms out an introduction of his new male actor.

Richard approaches reluctantly.

The woman rushes forwards and has her hands on Richard's hair before he can protest. “Isn't he perfect?” she tells the others, who don't reply. She holds her long dark hair beside Richard's own. “He's the exact right colouring to play my brother. I'll look even more beautiful and feminine in contrast.”

Richard says nothing. He notices the derisive look shot to her by a stunning short-haired woman sitting on the ground.

The director kindly glides Richard out of his girlfriend's grasp and reminds Richard of his name, Kwento Igbo. The dark-haired girl is Willow, _Scripts_ , and the others are named in a blur that Richard cannot catch, despite the timbre of Kwento's voice. Kwento's disinterested, and his strangled elocution shows it.

The actors stare at Richard assessingly and he tries not to meet anyone's gaze. There's an older man in a chair who looks like he knows (or thinks he knows) everything about acting (or possibly life in general) and a pretty teenage boy that everyone except that man seems to like, based on their posture. The boy is blond, with green eyes, and looks surprised, but not by anything in particular. A bit vapid. He can't have been in the adult company long, but presumably he's moved up from the kids' one, for there to be such a familiarity and protectiveness to the way the short-haired woman sits beside him.

“We're going over the current draft of the script,” Kwento declares, and Richard recognises the invisible order: take a seat. Richard obeys, taking the proffered pages, and feeling distinctly ill at ease. He sits a distance from the others.

Some of the younger company appear throughout the afternoon, but they hurry on with nothing to say to Kwento or the others. Presumably they're further on in production than Richard's company, because there are vague sound effects and musical scores drifting through the walls now and then.

The adult company finally get permission to disperse and Richard takes that as a cue to hurry away, feeling shy and miserable.

“Hey, new boy!”

Richard looks around, not even recognising the voice. Odd accent. Not displeasing.

But it's not one of his fellow actors. It's a young man kneeling on the floor, expertly painting a backdrop. He sits up on his haunches, wiping paint from his hands, and gives Richard the first genuinely friendly grin the brunet has seen all day.

“They're a bit hard to get used to, but they do warm up,” the stranger offers, looking sympathetic.

“Am I that obvious?” Richard winces.

“I haven't even been in the room, I just know what they're like,” is the reply.

Richard feels like lingering. Here's a kind voice, and Richard's got no one to talk to at home. No friends anymore. And Jim would hardly be sympathetic on the phone.

The slightly younger man seems to notice. “Did you pick up anyone's name?”

Richard makes a face. “Kwento tried to tell me...”

The man grins. “Yeah, he's only clear if he thinks it's important. But he can be helpful, at the sort of direction he's invested in.”

Richard nods.

The man shifts his weight again, drawing Richard's gaze to the muscles and tattoos in a way that he hopes the other hasn't noticed. He doesn't appear to have done, explaining, “The way to tell them apart is: Kwento will tell you what to do. Scripts will tell you what she wants to do. Wordsworth will tell you anything. Blue will tell you to ignore them. And Thomas will listen.”

Richard considers. “Scripts is the one with the long hair? And Wordsworth is the grown-up. Thomas is the kid, and Blue...”

“Is the smoking hot one, yes,” the other man grins, even if he does look screamingly queer.

Richard smiles a little. “And I'm Richie. What about you?”

The man grins. “I am Ruaridh, and I would shake your hand, but you look very clean.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ruaridh is standing on stage with a set piece, calling out a conversation to the technician in charge of lighting. They seem to be experimenting with shining lights through the semi-transparent screen to create mood, time of day and weather. It's spectacular to watch.

It also makes Richard feel lonely. He didn't have a problem walking up to any of his old company and falling into the ongoing conversation, but things are different now.

And Ruaridh's the only one who seems interested in talking to Richard rather than at him.

The technician comes down, talking excitedly. He's barely older than Thomas, but seems more mature.

The technician and Ruaridh clap hands on each other's backs and start to walk through to where the junior company are rehearsing.

Ruaridh pauses, catching sight of Richard. He smiles and waves the nervous actor over happily.

“New boy, this is Jamshad,” Ruaridh explains, “the man to be friends with if you want to look good under the lights and have your music start on time. Jam, this is Richie.”

“Hi,” Richard greets shyly.

The young technician thrusts out a hand warmly. Richard accepts it, noting that Jamshad's skin is the shade of a perfect cup of tea whilst Richard's just looks like milk. Jamshad's grip is friendly, and his gaze bright. “Did you see any of what we were doing?”

“The lights through the trees? Spectacular,” Richard responds honestly. “Really atmospheric, and… beautiful.”

Jamshad beams. “See?” he tells Ruaridh excitedly. “It's going to look amazing. The kids will love it. The parents will love it. Let's show Amy.”

Ruaridh nods, looking almost equally pleased, and claps a friendly hand on Richard's shoulder. “See you after rehearsal if you've around.”

Jamshad throws Richard into an unexpected hug and then tugs Ruaridh through to talk to the youth company's choreographer.

Richard smiles, feeling a ghost warmth around his shoulders. It's the first time he's been embraced since he left his old company.

The pleasure fades to sadness. Richard might like those two, but his real peers aren't nearly as welcoming.

He better join in rehearsal before he's late, Richard supposes reluctantly. No reason to give them further reason to be cool with him.

Rehearsal is painful. Scripts makes everything about her, and most of the time Kwento isn't inclined to rein her in. Thomas, the supposed love interest of the play and Scripts' prop, actually breaks from his blank looks now and again to startle in discomfort at Scripts' oozing 'sensuality.' Kwento and Wordsworth seem amused by it. Blue seems irritated and bored out of her mind, her talent hardly being fully utilised.

And then there's Richard, barely noticed as though the company's tensions with each other make him invisible.

It must show on his face, because Ruaridh gives Richard a concerned look as he trudges out of the room. Ruaridh gets up and walks over quickly.

Blue absently places an affectionate hand on Ruaridh's shoulder as she files past, escaping the others.

Richard stares. It's the first soft gesture he's seen from her that hasn't been in response to Thomas squeaking at Scripts.

Vaguely noticing Richard, Blue grunts something that might have been intended as a, “See you, Brook.”

Ruaridh's lips quirk sympathetically. “Why do I get the feeling that's the first any of them have noticed you all day?”

“Are you sure they'll get better?” Richard sighs.

“Eventually. A few drinks will smooth it,” Ruaridh reassures.

“I'm going to need more than a few if it's like that every day,” Richard mutters. His stomach twinges at the thought that Jim is probably keeping tabs somehow.

Maybe he thinks Richard will quit if the company's depressing enough.

“Have you got lines to go over?” Ruaridh asks.

Richard smiles a little. He's an actor. Of course he has lines.

Ruaridh beckons. “Come sit whilst I block out base colours. I'll help you.”

Richard is skeptical. “You think you can read and paint at the same time?”

Ruaridh grins cheekily. “Impressed? It's not that hard. Blocking out is pretty easy and by the time I'm doing complicated bits I'll have memorised your script. And Willow's many amendments. I'll overhear them enough.”

Richard grins. Scripts speaks out for the back of the room even when they're just reading through as six people.

Ruaridh returns to the fresh backdrop he was working on and indicates for Richard to put the open script before them so it doesn't get paint prints on it.

It honestly helps to read through with someone who's actually listening. Richard relaxes a little, staring at Ruaridh's swooping back as the young man covers the backdrop in colour. Ruaridh seems like a vivid sort of person: multicoloured, shaggy hair swept under a trendy skip cap and skin evidently kissed by the sun where it hasn't been decorated with ink (or smeared absently with paint).

Richard feels colourless, despite the company. He feels like a negative: all ghostly blacks and greys. Nothing of himself unless viewed through Jim's lens.

And usually Jim has spooks circling Richard. Where the hell are they? Does Jim think Richard will hate this company so much he'll have quit before anyone even notices his presence?

Other than Ruaridh and Jamshad.

Ruaridh turns to look at Richard. “Stop pouting, new boy. Show some life!”

Richard stares at his new friend's grin and wishes it were that easy.


	3. Chapter 3

Richard is startled the following day to see a girl working on Ruaridh's backdrops. She's tall and slight, with coloured hair twisted tight in a dancer's chignon.

She turns at the sound of footsteps on the worn wooden flooring and gives Richard a wary smile. “Hi,” she murmurs.

That same lilting accent, and a face that stops Richard in his tracks. Evidently Ruaridh's sister, with eyes that similar. Although her's are much shyer.

“Is… Ruaridh around?” Richard asks.

The girl blinks, pushing hair behind her ear and coating it in paint in the process. Her nails are short and stained with colours. 

“Just me today,” she says mildly.

Richard feels his shoulders drop and can't even be bothered hiding it. “Oh.”

Her lips twitch. “You can have lunch with me and Blue later if you like? If you're lonely.”

Richard grips his arms awkwardly. “I don't think she likes me much.”

Ruaridh's sister laughs softly. “Honey, Blue acts like she doesn't like anyone, but she's an angel underneath.”

“Angel of Death maybe,” Richard mutters.

His companion looks to the side quickly, surprised, then giggles as Richard feels someone ruffle his hair.

“ _Avenging_ angel,” Blue says gruffly, laughing at Richard's startled flinch.

“Sorry,” Richard mumbles.

“Oh, you could be,” Blue warns, but she rests her bare arm around his shoulders. She asks the other girl, “So why are we talking about me, Rubes?”

Great, so now Richard is furniture.

'Rubes' smiles. “I was inviting him to lunch with us since you lot are _horrible_ and not at all friendly.”

Blue laughs and looks down at Richard, who's shorter. “Sorry,” she says, “we are that.”

“Um,” Richard says.

Ruaridh's sister prods Blue with a paint-free shoulder. “Richie says yes as long as you respect his personal space.”

Blue rolls her eyes. “Another shy actor; that all we need,” she says, but there's not much bite in it, and she pulls away smoothly.

Richard bites his lip.

Rubes taps Blue on the nose. “Be nice to him.”

Blue rolls her eyes, muttering, “I'm not nice to anyone.”

“You're both going to be late,” the other young woman states, a wry smile on her lips.

A sigh from Blue, but then she's leaning over. “Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday,” Blue teases, hugging Rubes like she doesn't care about wet paint. 

Ruby smiles, giving the beauty a platonic kiss on the cheek. She looks ready to scold Blue again, but the actress has snatched Richard's wrist and is pulling him towards their rehearsal room.

It sends sparks along Richard's nerves but he swallows and follows, trying not to give Ruby an anxious look as he waves.

Blue drops his hand once they are inside but bumps him with her shoulder.

It soon becomes apparent that Blue has her hands full just looking out for Thomas.

“Are you sure we couldn't rewrite some of these scenes to make them a bit less… provocative?” Blue asks Scripts with a sigh as the teen tries to extract himself, white-faced.

Scripts reacts as though scandalised. “At this late stage?”

“Willow, it's like day two.”

“Exactly!” Scripts turns her chin towards Thomas. “Besides, you want to get noticed, don't you?”

“Being under Scripts is of course the best way to get there,” Blue states cuttingly.

Scripts choses to ignore the sarcasm. “Let's try _again_ , from the top, with feeling, shall we?”

She flicks her head around to give Kwento a glare, indicating his back up ought be voiced. He waves his large hand feebly in agreement, not really caring.

The rehearsal continues farcically, with Richard wondering whether it is sheer, superb acting talent that keeps Blue from exposing how much she surely desires to rip Scripts' pouty face off.

Jim's found a hell of a company. The actress with most talent is relegated to babysitter, the shitty writer thinks herself a STAR, the director lets his libido lead the direction, the 'mature' actor cannot take direction without sulky monologuing, and the baby of the group seems touched in the head.

And then there's Richard, wearing a face that could get him tortured and killed, and who cannot let himself show his full talent lest someone sees his damned face.

And Blue gives him a _look_ like she can see damn well that he's holding back. 

Great. Why had he craved her attention again?

Oh yes, because even her calculating scrutiny is better than being alone in this zoo.

Richard cannot say he is anything other than relieved when lunch break approaches. He's almost tempted to make his excuses and head to a pub, never returning to the theatre ever again; but Blue tugs him along, linking her strong arm with his own, feebler, one.

“Well thank fuck that's over,” she declares with a harshness in her voice and eyes that don't match her bland smile.

Richard cannot find it in himself to disagree.

His gaze falls on a young woman in a black unitard, cutaway hoodie and tiny denim shorts. The sight instantly gifts him a sense of relief.

“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!” Blue calls, like she's a deep-voiced Kaiser Chief and not merely the most beautiful black girl Richard's seen beyond the pages of a magazine.

Ruby turns easily and beams warmly, grabbing up a rag to wipe her fingers. Although her hands are filthy and there's paint near her ear, there isn't a speck on her dark sleeves, as though her messiness is a measured habit.

“Where are we going?” Ruby asks.

Blue drags a more eager Richard along as she swooshes her arm around the crook of Ruby's elbow. “The only place that makes this dive worth attending, of course.”

Richard isn't certain what to expect from that, but Blue is pulling them out the door and down some side streets that Jim probably wouldn't approve of.

Their destination is a sleepy little cafe slash bookstore run by a Polish mother and daughter who create the sort of food that makes Pinterest queens envious and racks up Instagram hearts.

Richard feels himself start to salivate, and feels a bit embarrassed by his sudden excitement. It's only food.

Neither girl seems to share the belief that the fare is 'only food.' 

Ruby lets go of Blue with a squeal and dives towards the counter, bouncing on her heels delightedly. The mother behind the counter laughs fondly, evidently familiar with Ruby. The woman leans in conspiratorially, whispering something that makes Ruby's eyes widen, and then she's slyly pulling out something which isn't on display. Ruby leans over the glass counter to kiss the woman's cheek.

Blue tugs Richard along and positions him in front of the glass counter, looking carefree and genuinely at ease for the first time. Richard forces back a sob of appreciation at the choice of underpriced wonders and begins to reassess his opinion of joining the acting company.

He realises he's lingering as Ruby is already finding seats and Blue is accepting one of those freakshake things beside a more sensible plate and her stern expression has been replaced with a very satisfied, smug, catlike one.

The daughter behind the counter gives Richard a patient smile and for once he's not anxious, fumbling, stuttering as he tries to make a choice without making the server wait. He's at ease.

He makes a selection, pays, and the older woman is leaning forwards to pop an extra treat on his tray before he joins the girls.

Blue swipes a finger over the top of her shake as Richard sits down in a worn, comfortable armchair. “I waited,” she teases, licking marshmallow goo from her fingers.

Ruby pauses, pastry coated lips twitching. “I was _hungry_. I'm always hungry.”

Blue gives her a knowing look then turns away, her brows raised. Richard eyes Ruby's thin, muscular frame.

“Dancer's stomach,” Ruby offers awkwardly. She slouches in her chair for a moment and then starts shovelling food into her mouth again.

Richard snorts and relaxes, reaching for his own lunch.

“Haven't seen you dance much recently,” Blue murmurs, her brows arching playfully, almost cattily, as she picks at her freakshake.

Ruby rolls her eyes and takes a swipe of her friend's cream.

“That is mine,” Blue states in a faux scandalised tone.

“Need the protein,” Ruby grins.

“There are more creative ways of getting that,” Blue retorts, fending off a second invasion with a teaspoon.

Ruby grimaces. “Vile.”

“Like your carbs.”

“I _need_ them,” Ruby grumbles, taking a pointed bite of her lunch. “...And boys are icky.”

“Irony,” Blue mutters, earning herself a jab in the ribs that Richard doesn't fully understand.

Ruby raises her gaze. “Not you of course.”

“What about your brother?” Richard asks, unoffended.

The girls blink in tandem. “ _Ruaridh_?” Ruby asks.

Richard nods and Blue grins.

“I guess he's alright,” Ruby comments.

“Nice butt,” Blue observes.

Ruby chokes and swats her friend. “Stop.”

Blue grins wickedly. “But he's so _manly_.”

“Enough,” Ruby sakes with feigned sternness. She jabs a finger stained with dry paint for effect as she chides, “I happen to know for a fact that he doesn't fancy you.”

“Then he's a liar,” Blue states cheerfully.

“He doesn't even bat that way,” Ruby huffs. “Girls are icky too. People are awful.”

Blue rolls her eyes. “You both should get a room together. Close as you are, it's probably masturbation.”

Richard flinches. Twin fetish. Gross.

The girls turn their gaze to him. “Are you thinking about that?” Blue asks, amused, scolding.

“Definitely not,” Richard responds, looking green. And guilty.

Ruby leans forwards, almost sniffing at him. She turns to Blue. “I think Richie's a twin.”

“Richie's not… um,” Richard stammers.

Blue grins teasingly. “What, was the company so bad Richard didn't come back today? Sent you instead?”

Richard blushes furiously. Jim would be so mad if he knew about this…

“Oh, you're _adorable_ ,” Blue teases, reaching over to pinch Richard's hot cheek.

“Am not,” Richard mumbles.

Ruby puts down her pastry. “Eat your damn salad, woman. He's shy.”

Blue snickers. “Ew. Salad. No.”

Ruby makes an exasperated noise. “Why even order it if you don't like it?”

“So no one judges me for the shake.”

“So they'll judge you for wasting food instead?”

“It's not food, it's leaves.”

“Why is your skin so good? You don't deserve it,” Ruby huffs.

Blue laughs. “Says the bitch with hollow legs.” She turns and prods Richard. “You're allowed to talk you know.”

Richard swallows. No, he really isn't.


	4. Chapter 4

If Jim knows about the lunchtime conversation there is no fire and brimstone to show it. Which doesn't necessarily mean Richard has escaped punishment.

However, someone _has_ been talking.

“Ruby said you missed me yesterday.”

Richard's breath catches at the amused tone of the voice. That sing-song accent.

“Ruaridh. Hi.”

Ruaridh gives him an amused look. “You're coming for drinks with us tonight, by the way.”

Richard's mouth feels dry. “I… what?”

Ruaridh's eyes twinkle in mischief. “Your company are a lot better company when lubricated with drink.”

Richard swallows. Ruaridh's gaze is playful, his tone flirtatious, and Richard has no idea how to deal with that.

Ruaridh nudges Richard towards the adult company's rehearsal space. “Most of the others are already in. You're finishing early, so you might as well get started now.”

Richard's stomach flutters. He's not sure how Jim will feel about this.

But tough. Jim made him join this company, right? So Richard needs all the help he can get to make the experience bearable.

Blue is her usual cold self in rehearsals, but her eyes glitter at Richard and she snaps at Scripts more than once in his defense.

Richard has no idea how the group are going to manage getting inebriated together without killing each other.

Surprisingly, it's not as bad as expected.

Ruaridh and Jamshad join the group after wrapping up. Jamshad puts an arm around Blue which she immediately shrugs off, growing, “Child,” and the young technician laughs playfully.

Scripts leads the way, guiding Kwento by the arm into a disgustingly trendy bar.

“Can we leave them and carry on ourselves?” Blue mutters.

“Poor Kwento, that's just mean,” Ruaridh scolds.

“He brings it on himself,” Blue replies with a roll of her eyes, but she follows.

Richard is immediately regretting his choice to come along, feeling utterly ill at ease in the bar. At least there doesn't seem to be a photographer at this early hour.

Jim is going to kill him.

He should leave now. Richard swallows, considering claiming that he's come over ill, which isn't strictly a lie, because the worry is making his stomach flip.

Jamshad puts a hand on his arm, leaning close. “Are you okay?”

Richard opens his voice to speak, but Ruaridh and Blue are looking around in concern, and even _Thomas_ steps closer.

Richard needs this. He needs friends. He'll go mad with only Jim in his life.

Well. Madder than he is already.

“I'm fine,” Richard lies, trying to stamp down on his dread.

Ruaridh holds Richard back a little, so the actor can have the end seat of the booth Scripts has claimed. Access to an escape if Richard needs it.

Richard gives his new friend a grateful look.

Kwento crosses to the bar and buys a few different cocktail pitchers, carrying them over easily with a stack of glasses.

It's uncomfortable at first, the group obviously mismatched, but then Thomas starts getting chatted up by a girl in the opposite booth and Wordsworth is drinking enough that his haughty accent roughens and Kwento is laughing and telling Scripts off for being her usual self, and Scripts is smiling and apologising warmly...

And it's good. Jamshad and Blue are matching Kwento for shots and Richard's sipping something brightly coloured without anyone teasing him about it and Ruaridh's dropped his arm casually around Richard's shoulders as if it belongs there.

Blue's the only one who gives them a funny look, but then she puts a shot down in front of them both. 

Richard shakes his head nervously.

Ruaridh turns and tickles Richard's sides with his free hand. “Aw, are you a pussy, new boy?”

“Leave him alone,” Scripts says kindly, surprising Richard no end.

“Such a girl,” Ruaridh scoffs softly at Richard, earning a _look_ from Blue.

Richard squares his shoulders, and absolutely knowing he will regret it, picks up the glass and downs it. It burns. He doesn't splutter. Unusual success.

But he makes an absolutely disgusted face, unable to avoid sticking out his whole tongue and groaning. “Yuck,” he mutters.

Jamshad and some of the actors laugh, but Ruaridh just fixes Richard with an odd look. Then he seems to notice he's still touching Richard rather a lot.

Ruaridh pulls back a bit, smiling calmly, and keeps his arm around Richard's shoulder.

Richard lets him, and knows he oughtn't.

“What does your chest say?” Richard asks, surprising himself.

“Which bit?” Ruaridh asks.

“The big one between your shoulders,” Richard answers, pointing at the corresponding area on himself.

Ruaridh bites his lip, the corners of it twitching. “Something childish.”

Richard narrows his brows, confused and amused. “Like what?”

Ruaridh lets out a breath like he feels silly, pulling down on his vest to give a clearer view. Bits and pieces of other tattoos peek out, a striped tail above his heart.

“Can you read it?” Ruaridh asks wryly.

Richard squints at the dark, stylised lettering. “When I've got my hands up on your chest… Mother- um, motherfuckers best believe it… That you're … fucking with the best?” 

His cheeks burn, but Richard feels alright about that because Ruaridh looks embarrassed too. “Don't ask,” Ruaridh mutters.

It makes Richard feel brave. “Have a lot of shitty lyrics tattooed, do you?”

Ruaridh lets out a bark of laughter. “Yes. Most of them.”

Richard finishes his drink. Pours more. “Are you going to show me another?”

Ruaridh laughs, but he looks far less cocky than this morning, and pulls up his top, exposing a slice of hard muscle painted in red and black.

“Hey, I said show me a tattoo, not your body,” Richard teases, his voice squeaking more than he'd like.

“More shitty lyrics you said,” Ruaridh states, tapping at the winding script amongst red chess pieces.

The lighting's not great in the bar, so Ruaridh has to rise out of his seat a little for Richard to see. _A queen's just a pawn with a bunch of fancy moves._ Pretty ambiguous, but Richard notices scar tissue puckering under the ink as Ruaridh sits down.

Stabbed? By a girl?

Ruaridh reaches for his drink, smirking as though oblivious to the scarring.

“Chess pieces?” Thomas asks.

“Well yeah, _Ruaridh_ ,” the tattooed man points out.

Blank looks from Thomas _and_ Richard.

Ruaridh twitches his lips. “It means the Red King.”

Still a blank look from Thomas, but Richard nods. “Like a chess piece.”

“Weird name,” Thomas smiles with a shake of his head.

Ruaridh shrugs. “It's Scottish.” 

“That accent isn't,” Richard snorts. 

“Well no, of course not,” Ruaridh smiles, eyes glittering like he wants Richard to lean in and ask more. 

Richard doesn't. 

Ruaridh doesn't look disappointed, just reaches calmly for his drink again like he thinks he has nothing to prove.

Richard takes a drink as well, to give him something else to focus on. Ruaridh had taken his arm away to stand in the cramped space and Richard is relieved that it has not been returned. He's going to make a fool of himself if he isn't careful.

Ruaridh leans close, startling Richard. “What about you? Anything interesting on your skin?”

Enough scars that Richard won't perform love scenes. Or topless scenes. “Nope,” he says.

Ruaridh gives him a teasing look. “What, no Chinese gibberish or a little cartoon character on an ass cheek from a dare?”

Not a cartoon character, and not so much a dare as a whim of Jim's. “Nope.”

“For an actor you're a terrible liar,” Ruaridh whispers, turning Richard's cheeks pink, but then he's changing the subject, respecting Richard's privacy.

It's so comfortable.

Everyone melts into each other, words flowing, people taking it in turns to clamber out of the booth for a round.

Richard could stay forever. But Jim would kill him.

Richard might also kill himself if he gets drunk enough to get noticed flirting with the thuggish-looking, pretty boy set painter.

“I should go,” Richard says at last.

Blue and Jamshad groan. “Bad, new boy. Stay...”

Richard blushes. Grins. But shakes his head. “I can't. I need to get back home.”

Ruaridh ruffles Richard's hair. “Leave him alone, guys, we can't all drink instead of facing our responsibilities.”

Responsibilities. Yes. Not making Jim mad is Richard's biggest priority.

There are moans of derision and dissent from the booth, but Richard smiles apologetically and eases out.

Ruaridh taps Richard's arm. “I'll walk you.”

Richard's cheeks go hot even as his stomach goes cold. Jim won't like that. “It-it's fine, th-thank you,” he stammers.

Ruaridh chews his lip. “Little thing like you by yourself?” He shakes his head. “I don't...”

Richard feels deeply embarrassed. Ruaridh might be pretty, but he's tall and much more muscular than Richard. Like a swimmer or a kickboxer. It's evident that Ruaridh doesn't think Richard can defend himself. It stings.

It's possibly also true, but Jim takes care of that. Keeps eyes on Richard.

Not that Richard can tell Ruaridh that.

“I don't have to walk you the whole way,” Ruaridh adds. “Just to your neighbourhood. Just so I know you're okay.”

Jim wouldn't approve of that either. Can't have people knowing where Richard stays.

“I can manage,” Richard says firmly. Kindly.

Ruaridh sighs. “Fine. I'm coming out for a smoke though.”

Richard bites his lip. He's pretty sure Ruaridh doesn't smoke, but the man holds up a lighter with a knowing smile.

“Fine,” Richard mutters, and distinctly ignores the warm feeling that rises in his chest as Ruaridh steps along beside him. He's not pleased, not touched. He's _annoyed_. He is, Richard reminds himself. He's not a weakling.

Well…

The cold air hits them as they step outside, Richard gasping at the sensation. His skin's flushed from drinking, he isn't used to it, and it's only now that he realises… maybe he should have stopped a little earlier.

Ruaridh gives Richard a warm look, but he also looks a little concerned. Great. Richard is noticeably tipsy. A lightweight.

They linger just outside the bar, something in the air as though they're hanging on each other's every word in a silent conversation. Ruaridh leans against the wall, jacket in the crook of his arm and his fingers playing with his lighter, not quite out his pocket. He looks effortlessly cool, a fond grin playing about his lips that makes Richard weak, and something mysterious, dark, promising in his gaze.

It takes Richard longer than he likes to rip his eyes away. He stares at the ground. At the gleam of Ruaridh's red Doc Martin boots. Dark paint on the toes.

“I better go,” Richard tells the paint reluctantly.

Ruaridh sighs, but Richard can hear the fond smile in the man's accented voice saying, “Alright, mate. Be safe.”

And of course Richard stumbles as he tries to agree and walk away, a stammering idiot in an oversized cardigan having no hope of seeming badass next to this tattooed wonder.

“Are you _sure_ you don't want me to walk at your side?” Ruaridh asks.

Richard flushes. “I _want_ you to shut up,” he retorts, a little more sharply than he intends. He bites his tongue, swiftly considering apologising, but then Ruaridh chuckles darkly.

“You think you're going to make me?”

Richard freezes, and he doesn't know if that's a threat or a joke, but he's not embarrassed anymore, he just wants to get the hell home before Jim gets angry.

“Goodbye,” Richard says firmly, doing his best to channel Jim. It's not entirely effective when he's swaying a little on his feet, but it's certainly more intimidating than mousy Richard.

The brunet stalks off on wobbly legs and curses himself for an imbecile. Jim's going to know, going to see the state of him, and Richard is dead.

Only Jim isn't the only one Richard should have been worried about watching him stagger home.

Richard's heart goes to his mouth as he realises he can hear a man's tread behind him.

“Ruaridh, I said I was fine,” he snaps, trying to sound braver than he feels.

“Who?” scoffs a distinctly unfamiliar voice, and then Richard is exclaiming as he feels strong hands on him.

“Wh-what do you want?” Richard squeaks, doing his best to twist out of his grip.

“What do you you _think_?” the larger man sneers.

Best case scenario? Richard's wallet or phone. Less great scenario? Guy's a pervert. Worst case scenario? This man recognises Richard's / Jim's face.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I'd put him down if I was you, pal.”

Fuckfuckfuck. That isn't one of Jim's men, that's Ruaridh, and…

No.

Is Ruaridh one of Jim's fucking men?

Richard feels so sick at the thought that he barely notices the grip releasing from his cardigan or the glint of light as Ruaridh pulls something from his boot.

A butterfly knife. A fucking butterfly knife. Jim has planted this fucking gorgeous 'set painter' just to mess with Richard's head and…

And that's an awful lot of blood.

“Are you okay?” Ruaridh asks urgently, wiping his blade on the other man's dark jeans a little mockingly as the attacker grunts and gasps in pain. Ruaridh steps towards Richard quickly, eyes full of concern.

Well they would be. Jim doesn't take kindly to his twin being manhandled.

Richard moves away crossly. “Don't fucking talk to me.”

Ruaridh gives him a hurt look and glances back at the stabbed man as though that violence is the problem. “He was gonna _hurt_ you!”

Richard curls his lip coldly. “Well you can tell your boss that he didn't. Well done you.”

Ruaridh gives Richard a wary look. “What?”

Richard rubs his forehead with the drooping sleeve of his cardigan. “Was the flirting your bright idea or his?”


	5. Chapter 5

Ruaridh isn't at the theatre the next day and Richard is bitterly glad of it.

However, he's early, out of habit, and no one else is around. Richard hears soft music from the dance studio although he hasn't noticed any of the kids, and wonders whether Amy is also killing time.

The door isn't quite properly closed and a dreamy seventies song drifts out into the space, drawing Richard in.

“When you are a king...”

A young woman in a black long sleeved leotard and thick white tights performs a complicated series of springs and dips, utterly focused on the music.

“Everywhere you go, people bowing low...”

She looks stressed, throwing herself to her back on the floor and kicking her feet before spinning onto her knees.

“Feet won't touch a thing, when you are a king...”

Richard wonders whether Ruby knows about Jim. Whether she's involved or whether her brother's employment is a fluke.

“Tore your shirt again, fighting in the rain, with what's his name...”

Ruby's moves are violent, distraught, a modern take of what was evidently years of classic ballet training.

“Shoe-black on your face, you're really a disgrace...”

Richard jumps as a child appears at his hip. “She's good, isn't she?” she says. 

Richard nods reluctantly.

“She could have been a principal dancer before the surgery,” the young girl continues. 

Richard looks away from the oblivious dancer to look at the child properly. “Surgery?”

The girl – Richard thinks her name might be Morgan- nods casually and then stiffens, pressing her lips together. “It's not polite to talk about it,” she says awkwardly. 

The girl brightens and pulls out her phone, which is a far better model than Richard's. “But she was amazing; look!” 

She draws up a video of younger Ruby dancing with a teenage boy Richard doesn't recognise. They perform a slow, edgy, emotionally wrought choreography in time to a Within Temptations' cover of 'Crazy.' 

The little girl crumples up her face in disgust. “ _He_ wasn't anywhere near as good as Miss Ruby and now he's dancing for a proper dance company.” 

Richard flicks his gaze over the muscle bound dancer. “You didn't like him?” 

Morgan narrows her eyes in confident, protective dislike. “He didn't like Miss after she stopped dancing and making him look good. She was really sad.”

Richard bites his lip and lifts his gaze from the phone to the real Ruby.

“Royal gifts they all will bring, when you are a king...”

“Where is everyone?” Richard asks.

“Miss Ruby helps me practise,” Morgan explains. “I need to work harder than the other girls to keep up so Miss Ruby helps for free and doesn't tell the others. She's really nice.”

Richard looks back at Ruby, sweating a bit alone in a little girls' dance studio.

“Feet won't ever touch a thing, when you are a king.”

Ruby gets to her feet and crosses the room to switch off the CD player.

She looks up to the doorway and freezes, seeing Richard standing with Morgan.

She swallows. “Morgan, sweetheart, I've warmed up, can you please come in and do the same?”

“Of course Miss Ruby!”

Richard feels supremely uncomfortable as Morgan races away to stretch and Ruby approaches.

Ruby closes the door a little behind her, half an eye still on Morgan. “Did you want something?” she asks coolly.

Richard swallows. “Never mind,” he says, turning away.

A soft hand on his shoulder. “Richie!”

Richard turns, but Ruby is staring at her hand as though it has betrayed her. “Forget it,” she says quietly, taking back her hand and closing the door pointedly behind her.

Richard storms into Jim's current home straight after practise. “We need to talk.”

Jim gives him an interested look, as though he will be annoyed later but so far is merely confused. “Do let yourself in, why don't you?”

“Did you think it was funny?” Richard asks bitterly.

“Should I be expected to know what you are referring to?” Jim asks.

“I'm sick of being played with Jimmy. It's not fun for me.”

“I cannot profess to know what you're talking about, Richie.”

“Ruaridh, Jim!” Richard snaps.

Jim blinks. “The set designer at your little theatre?”

“You can't just plant my friends, Jim. I'm a real person.”

“Have you taken your meds recently, sweet?”

“JIM.”

Jim gives his brother a puzzled look. “Whatever's happened with the set designer is nothing to do with me. He's been there for years.”

“And how long had you been planning my move?” Richie asks, disgruntled.

“Not years,” Jim responds. “Has he done something to you? Hurt you? Because I-”

“He saved me, Jim. Some creep got his hands on me and Ruaridh stabbed him.”

“Are you hurt?” Jim asks swiftly.

“You're not listening! You planted another of your little goons and got him to act like he was my friend and...”

“Richie, this Ruaridh person isn't one of mine,” Jim says soberly. “But you'll be assigned one of mine, I'm not going to have you going around at risk of someone _touching_ you, I...”

Jim trails off, assessing Richard's surprised look. “What?”

Richie frowns in confusion. “Why would someone defend me with a butterfly knife if he wasn't anything to do with you?”

“Perhaps you're really making friends all on your own, little brother,” Jim mocks, although he looks a bit concerned. Little brother, like Richard isn't the same age. “However, I'll have Moran check him out. He can report back and tell me if you need additional protection or moved.”

“You're sending Sebastian?” Richard asks in surprise. And then he clenches his fists. “Jim, I don't want to move again.”

“You'll do exactly as you're told so I can keep you safe,” Jim asserts. “And no, his brother, Severin.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jim is surprised by how easy it is to recognise Sebastian's brother. Only slightly smaller, with dirty blond hair and lacking the extent of facial scarring Richard is used to seeing on Jim's favourite employee's face.

The blond brothers could be twins, and wouldn't that seem hilarious to Jim? A diluted Sebastian Moran for a diluted version of Jim Moriarty. Mirrors. 

Severin is attractive. Perhaps too broad and muscled to be considered 'pretty' as such, but on first glance seems to lack the brutality Sebastian exudes.

It's probably the lack of a ginormous scar down the face which does it. It's almost impossible not to look shot with testosterone when that jawline is coupled with evidence of a facial injury that screams uncanny luck in not leaving Sebastian with one eye.

Although, as far as Richard knows, only one of the Morans is tattooed with 'Property of Moriarty' so perhaps Severin is actually the tougher of the pair.

He's also bloody bossier than his brother.

Richard sighs and hopes covertly checking Severin out over the coming days will make up for the way Severin speaks to him. But likely not.

If Richard had any concerns about attending rehearsal with a babysitter he need not have bothered. Kwento stiffens at the sight of Severin despite his own considerable body mass and gives the blond a look of recognition.

Great. Nothing says casual or normal like your director being intimidated by your dickish bodyguard.

Presumably Kwento has already briefed the others on Richard's shadow, because although Severin is given curious looks, not one of the actors questions his presence.

Severin seems bemused to watch Richard act, seeming to know Richard is holding back. He's probably seen Jim's 'characters'.

It disconcerts Richard a little. Jim has always wondered at Richard's softness, but it's somehow different whenever staff judge the difference for themselves. Richard knows he always gets ranked as the runt, so far behind Jim in strength, wit and threat.

Severin's face is mostly blank as he sits watching the rehearsal -or rather, watching Richard- but Richard can tell he is questioning the acting. Why act when you can't express your true skill?

Why indeed.

But Richard can't, _can't_ give it up. What else does he have?

Except Jim, who is rarely around. Except to scold.

Richard swallows, drawing away from the others as they break for lunch. Blue gives him a funny look.

“Richie, aren't you coming?”

Richard bites his lip. Shakes his head. “I think Ruby would rather I didn't.”

Blue gives him a look like she knows that something's happened, but is still surprised that Richard is keeping away.

Severin follows Richard. “You've been here a week and already you've dumped a girl?” he comments dubiously.

Richard chokes. No one ever reads him as straight, never mind a heartbreaker.

Not that Richard has had much opportunities to have his heart broken either, with Jim's watchful presence.

“No,” Richard says. “Ruby and I aren't like that.”

Severin nods. “Your brother didn't say anything about having to protect you from jilted girls.”

“I yelled at her brother,” Richard confesses.

Severin raises his brows. “ _You_ yelled at someone? Was he six?”

Richard bites his lip. “He's all muscle and he'd just shoved a knife in someone.”

Severin's eyes glitter, looking amused for the first time all day. “Are you messing with me?”

“You know who my brother is,” Richard shrugs. “I'm pretty used to the sight of blood.”

Severin hums thoughtfully.


	7. Chapter 7

“Well, damn.”

Richard glances around. Severin seems to be a lot more talkative than Sebastian tends to be, and Richard isn't sure how he feels about that. “What?”

“Her,” Severin says admiringly, inclining his head towards a young woman in a unitard and an open shirt.

Not Amy or any of the serious ballet tutors. 

“That's Ruby,” Richard says a little uncomfortably.

Severin turns and gives the brunet a look that does not flatter Richard's intellect. “That's the girl you dumped?”

Richard swallows. “I told you, I didn't-”

“Do you think she's upset still?” Severin asks.

Richard scowls. “Don't go preying on my friends.”

“Thought you weren't interested?” Severin mocks. There might be some smugness in his expression, but perhaps that's because he fancies himself more traditionally handsome than the actor.

Richard frowns. “She's still a human being.”

Severin gives Richard a dry look. “I still need her _consent_ but let's face it, people make more bad decisions when they're upset.”

“And you're a bad decision, are you?” Richard questions.

Severin snorts. “Well, would you date me?”

Richard blinks quickly. “Based on what?”

“Impression so far.”

Richard curls his lip. “Obnoxious and in love with his handsome self isn't really my type.”

“Handsome, eh?” Severin preens. “I wonder if she thinks I'm handsome.”

“She hasn't even looked at you because you're standing with me, and she's pissed at me,” Richard points out.

“She'll notice me,” Severin states confidently.

Richard rolls his eyes. Inwardly it hurts a little to see Ruby's back and stiff shoulders. She knows he's there, but clearly feels uncomfortable with his presence.

“So what's your type then?” Severin asks.

“Guys,” Richard says bluntly.

Severin rolls his eyes. “Specifically. Make some conversation, will you?”

“Ruaridh, I guess?” Richard muses. “Before I yelled at him anyway.”

“What's he like then?” Severin asks, tearing his gaze away from Ruby to eye Richard curiously.

“Pretty I suppose?” Richard says. “But tough. Not as big in the chest as you, more the build of a gymnast or a kickboxer.”

“A dancer like his sister?” Severin asks.

Richard pauses, never having considered the possibility. “Never thought about it,” he admits.

“Well if his arse is anything like his sister's...”

Richard looks although he shouldn't. “Very, actually.”

“Is he likely to forgive you?” Severin asks.

Richard shrugs. “He hasn't even been in recently. I hope he doesn't get behind with the set.”

Severin hums to himself. “Well, if he comes back, maybe you could actually use some of your acting skills to apologise.”

Richard looks up at Severin quickly.

The blond makes a face. “What, you think I believed that wooden performance in there?”

Wooden. Ouch.

Severin gives Richard a mildly sympathetic look. “It sucks wearing that face, huh?”

Richard blinks in surprise at actually hearing that acknowledgement out loud, and runs his small hand nervously through his hair. “It does a bit, yeah.”

Severin taps his nose and smiles. “Well, secret's safe with me, boss.”

Maybe this arrangement won't be entirely tiresome after all. Richard gives his new bodyguard a soft nod and then brushes his shoulder. “We should head inside. Wouldn't want to be late for my 'wooden' performance.”

Severin claps Richard on the back and they step through to the rehearsal space. If Severin's eyes linger a little longer than necessary on Ruby whilst he scans their surroundings, well, what's the harm in that?

The blond's attention is quickly reverted back to his principal, as Blue bounds closer. The woman's swift and forceful ease of being physical with Richard makes Severin a little tense, but it's clear she has no bad intentions.

“You're a bad boy,” Blue growls in Richard's ear.

Richard flounders a little. “Wh-what?”

“Dear Scripts is cross with you, cinnamon bun,” Blue tells him with amusement. “The others have noticed that you and Ruaridh left together, and now he hasn't come back, and she is incandescent about the possibility he won't be available to provide _our_ sets.”

Cheeks instantly burning, Richard's gaze quickly flicks to Severin. “It wasn't like that, I swear.”

Severin gives Richard an amused, teasing smirk. “Course it wasn't,” the blond drawls, very much enjoying the rabbit in the headlights look on the actor's face.

Something about Severin's expression or tone of voice makes Richard's insides leap. It must just be that Severin is huge and strong and handsome and fixing Richard with a look that suggests he might just eat Richard all up in one wolfish bite, but whatever the provocation, it is not good at all.

Richard swallows and looks away.

Blue gives the pair an interested look, unnoticed, then purrs in Richard's ear, “I suggest you make up with Ruaridh, or Scripts is going to have your balls for earrings.”

Richard chokes. He looks around quickly. “And how am I supposed to do that when he doesn't come in?”

Blue peels herself from him and gives him a pitying look. “I would suggest you ask Ruby very nicely for his number.”

Richard freezes. Eventually he swallows. “I don't-”

Blue arches her perfect brows. “I didn't say tell her you want to sext her brother, just be apologetic and genuine.”

“But-”

“Balls as earrings, mate. And I think it would be bloody stupid for you to fall out anyway,” Blue says.

Severin rests his arm around Richard's slim shoulders. Richard's pulse seems to slow then race. “Whilst you're at it, you could ask Ruby for her number to give to your very _handsome_ friend.”

Richard shrugs off the contact and tries to grin. “I'm not sure you're good enough for her.”

“Oh probably not, but I'd definitely let her use me,” Severin jokes, eyes heated in a way that continues to make Richard's heart flutter.

“I don't wanna know,” Richard complains.

“Not certain you've got a chance with Rubes, big boy,” Blue says.

Both men look at her.

“Why not?” Richard asks first. He starts to feel embarrassed when he realises he should have let Severin say that, but the blond merely nods and raises his brows questioningly at the beautiful girl.

“She doesn't really do 'using',” Blue says carefully. “And before you ask, she doesn't really do gentlemen either. She doesn't do dating. Or people, to an extent.”

Severin sighs. “Well I suppose I can admire her from afar. But what a waste of such a beautiful arse.” He glances at Richard. “What about this one? He got a chance with her brother?”

Richard looks mortified, but Blue doesn't bat an eye. “He doesn't really date either. Not since...” She trails off, biting her lip. Uncertain whether to continue.

“You don't have to say if it's private,” Richard says.

Blue crosses her arms. “It's kind of common knowledge to the rest of us, so I guess you might as well hear from me instead of someone else.”

Richard nods, eying her curiously.

“Ruby… used to take her dancing quite seriously. Won competitions and stuff. And she was dating her dance partner. And… he liked Ruaridh as well.”

“And then he left, after the surgery,” Richard finishes.

Blue recoils, giving him an astonished look, then protective fury casts across her face. “If Ru told you about that and now won't come in, I-”

Severin tugs Richard back a little.

“He didn't tell me!” Richard says quickly. “One of the little girls Ruby tutors mentioned it.”

Blue bites her lip. “You should talk to them. But don't you dare hurt their feelings.”

Richard frowns. “I wouldn't...”

The conversation is interrupted as Scripts barges through. She points a menacing finger at Richard, about to speak, and the Severin raises his brows at her. Her lips press together.


	8. Chapter 8

Kwento rubs his handsome face in his large hand. “Let's be glad today's over. Anyone feel like a drink?”

“Doubles,” Wordsworth agrees, falling into step as he pulls on his jacket. “Young things?”

“Absolutely,” Scripts agrees.

Thomas smiles and nods, pulling an arm around Blue.

Richard's insides squirm. The last time he went for drinks with his troupe it did not go well.

Blue stabs a manicured finger at Richard and Severin. “Go get Ruby. Smooth things over.”

Richard bites his lip. Severin puts an arm around his shoulder in a way that looks patronising, but feels comforting. Richard blinks at him.

“I'll come,” Severin says, “it'll help sweeten the deal with the lovely lady.”

Richard smiles weakly.

Severin steers them, his arm a protective shield and his chest a strong, warm presence.

“Lovely Ruby!” Severin calls charmingly.

Ruby blinks and turns around, pursing her lips. She brushes her hair behind her ears, streaking paint across her brow bone.

She draws her gaze over Richard edgily. “What do you want?”

He tries to get the words out.

Severin presses a little closer in reassurance.

“I'd like to ...to… to apologise to Ru… Ruaridh, if, if that's okay,” Richard stammers.

Ruby fixes her large eyes on him. So like her brother's. “Uh huh?”

“Could… I have his number?” Richard asks meekly. “Or I could give you mine to pass on?”

Ruby bites her lip. “Give me yours and I'll ask him...”

Richard fumbles with his phone, calling up his number and holding it out.

Ruby takes it. “Um, it's...”

“Oh...” Richard swipes it back awake. She types in the number.

Severin grins at her winningly. “Whilst you've got your phone out, would you like my number as well?”

Ruby's lips twitch. “I doubt I'm your type, Mister Big, Blond and Handsome.”

Severin tilts his head. “What's my type?”

“Available,” Ruby says dryly.

“I'm hurt,” Severin replies, but he smiles.

“The bar,” Richard adds mildly.

“Oh yeah, the bar,” Severin agrees cheerfully. “The others are going for a drink if you want to come.”

Ruby nods. “Sure, why not?” she says wryly. “Let me wash my hands first.”

“And your face,” Severin purrs.

She blinks and grins. “Thanks. That happens a lot.”

“Um, you could ask Ruaridh if he wants to join us there,” Richard suggests.

Ruby gives him an awkward look. “I think he wants to stay in tonight.”

“Is he coming back?” 

Ruby presses her lips together and nods. “I'll kick him into touch.” She stretches out. “Let me get cleaned up.”

By the time Ruby has returned Jamshad has joined the others and has persuaded the crowd to attend some free mic night at a nearby bar.

He whoops as he notices Ruby walking up with Severin and Richard. “Ruby-Ru! You'll sing won't you?”

Ruby bares her teeth a little. “Why am I singing?”

Jamshad smiles. “Because you are transcendent.”

Ruby's face twitches. “Well yes,” she agrees, “but that's not just the singing.”

Jamshad kisses her cheek playfully. “Jewel amongst men.”

Ruby smirks, although her jaw seems a little tight. She elbows Blue lightly. “What about the girls? Do they worship me too?”

Blue grins. “I'd throw you my panties but you know… straight.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Ruby says playfully.

Jamshad makes to pull Richard into the teasing, but then notes his proximity to Severin and thinks better of it.

Blue notices and taps Severin's bicep. “Shouldn't we be picking on the new guy?”

He twitches his expression wolfishly. “Dare you to try. Buuuutttt Richie here is the new guy. I'm just his minder.”

“Yeah what is with that anyway?” Blue asks. She flinches and covers her mouth. “Sorry, I have no manners. We're not supposed to ask.”

Severin shrugs and looks at Richard. “He gets sick sometimes if he's not careful with himself. I'm trained to react if I notice him getting weak.”

Richard swallows and nods quickly.

“So you're like… his nurse?” Blue says.

Severin flexes an arm. “Fulfilling fantasies everywhere.” He turns and gives Ruby a sly wink.

“Wait 'til you hear me sing,” she retorts with a playful tilt of his chin.

Severin grins widely.

He bumps Blue's shoulder. “Is Ru worth the hype?”

Blue smiles. “She's something. You'll see what we mean.”

Ruby hangs back to fall back in step with Richard. “You're okay though, right? If he's here to look after you?”

“Even reminded me to take my pills this morning,” Richard says uncomfortably. For an actor he has an unhealthy distaste for lying. Although technically that was true, merely misdirection.

“Good,” Ruby murmurs.

Richard runs his hand through his hair and walks faster to keep up with Severin.

The others are already pouring into the bar.

It is so much nicer than the last one.

Kwento, Wordsworth and Scripts pick a cluster of tables, already in deep conversation. Thomas hovers at Blue's side as she files in with Jamshad and turns around to say something playful to Ruby.

Ruby smiles back and nudges Severin and Richard into seats either side of her. Severin smiles, but he keeps his attention on Richard. He is working after all.

Richard is nervous, chewing a little at his fingers. It seems like Ruby might just forgive him, and then Ruaridh might, and… He's not even sure why that makes him so nervous.

Severin reaches behind Ruby to put a hand on Richard's shoulder. The actor startles a little, but then gifts Severin a smile in return.

“Want to help me get a round in?” Severin suggests.

Richard is grateful of the escape. “Sure.”

“You alright?” Severin murmurs as they cross the room.

“Don't have great people skills,” Richard admits, fussing anxiously with his sleeves.

Severin turns and takes one of the actor's wrists, rubbing soothingly over the small bones and slowly evening pulse. “You're fine. I'm with you.”

It helps somehow.

Richard swallows. “Thanks.”

“Here to look after you, aren't I?” Severin says easily. He lingers against the wet bar before ordering, giving Richard time to adjust.

“I think my brother just meant ensure I don't get any additional ventilation,” Richard says a little wryly.

Severin shrugs and smiles. “All the same to me. Besides, your decision making and reactions are better if you're not stressed.”

Richard bares his teeth. “I'm always stressed.”

Severin rolls his eyes. “Well I draw the line at blow jobs.” He grins at Richard's spluttering laugh.

They carry the drinks back to the table, Richard looking decidedly less tight around the eyes.

Ruby accepts a drink quickly, eyes snapping back to the cute sisters sharing the small stage.

“They're good,” Wordsworth comments.

“They're vapid,” Thomas drawls, drawing a few glances. He gives a shy smile. “What? I didn't say that was bad.”

Ruby watches the performance, not cringing at their missed notes, and tapping her fingertips silently on the back of her varnished chair. Nervous.

Blue frowns at the sight a little. Ruby's used to bigger crowds than this.

Ruby puts down her glass and rubs at her wrists, exposing inked skin beneath her sleeves. Severin eyes it curiously, but then the girls are finishing and Ruby is leaving her seat.

Severin moves his chair so he can keep Richard properly in his eyeline whilst still managing to watch the stage a little.

Ruby talks to a staff member, then she's standing on stage with a microphone and a backing track is calling the attention of the tables.

Ruby closes her eyes, something about her posture or appearance calling attention before she even shapes words from her lips.

“You don't say much...  
“You don't say any more than you'll have to.  
“Have you lost touch,  
“With the ones you adore and sought after?  
“Yeah...”

The room hushes.

“And you don't know why,  
“Yeah, they put a bullet through your heart,  
“And told you not to cry...  
“You know life should be beautiful.  
“So come on out of your shadow for while.”

Ruby is pale under the lights, her mild dusting of freckles washed away. She presses her eyes closed and deepens her sweet voice.

“I wanna know where you go  
“When you're dreaming;  
“I wanna see what you see  
“When your eyes close.  
“And when it all goes down,  
“Then will yah  
“Have a place to run?  
“Cause I don't know when I can't tell,  
“What you're thinking.  
“So we'll just drive,  
“Through the night  
“'Till we find,  
“Some kind of home...”

Ruby opens her eyes and steps forward.

“I swear I'll never mention this to anyone:  
“So go on you can tell me what it is.  
“You see I am barely hanging on here,  
“And the way I feel yeah, something's got to give,  
“Yeah something's got to give.”

She spins across the stage.

“I wanna know where you go  
“When you're dreaming;  
“I wanna see what you see  
“When your eyes close.  
“And when it all goes down,  
“Then we'll,  
“Have a place to run.  
“Cause I don't know when I can't tell,  
“What you're thinking.  
“So we'll just drive,  
“Through the night,  
“Till we find,  
“Some kind of home...  
“Yeah some kind of home...”

Ruby's voice is rich and haunting, causing the fine hairs on Richard's neck to rise. He glances at Severin and sees the blond's forearms are equally effected.

Ruby struts across the stage.

“It's hard enough to walk the line in pieces,  
“But you don't have to do this on your own...  
“We could bide the time reading signs along the freeway;  
“You don't have to do this alone.”

She dips, expression painting her face.

“I wanna know where you go  
“When you're dreaming;  
“I wanna see what you see  
“When your eyes close.  
“And when it all goes down  
“Will yah,  
“Have a place to run?  
“Cause I don't know when I can't tell  
“What you're thinking...  
“So we'll just drive,  
“In the night,  
“'Till we find...  
“Some kind of home...  
“Yeah.”

Ruby strides forwards, washing her gaze over every pair of eyes focused on her. Severin swallows.

“I wanna know where you go  
“When you're dreaming.  
“I wanna see what you see  
“When your eyes closed.  
“And when it all goes down,  
“Then will you  
“Have a place to run?  
“Cause I don't know when I can't tell  
“What you're thinking...  
“Yeah...  
“So we'll just drive through the night 'til we find  
“Some kind of home.  
“Some kind of home.  
“Some kind of home...”

The room is quiet for a moment then applause rings out, echoing oddly in the space.

“Thank you. That was 'Some Kind of Home' by Thriving Ivory.” Ruby hops off of the stage and hands back the microphone.

Richard and Severin watch her approach, their expressions slightly stunned.

“We want more!” Jamshad teases.

“Absolutely,” Wordsworth agrees.

Ruby laughs. “Wait until I get drunker will you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Ruby says, lyrics are 'Some Kind of Home' by Thriving Ivory.


	9. Chapter 9

Richard is startled when his phone goes early in the morning.

'Hi. -Ru'

Richard stares at the screen until it goes black, then he quickly fumbles back a reply. “Hey. -RB'

'Is it cool if I come in today? -Ru'

Richie feels a twist in his gut, and then he realises, _he now has Ruaridh's number_. This doesn't have to be awful.

'Please. I'm sorry for being an unappreciative dick. -RB'

'Since when did you swear New Boy? -Ru'

'Since I messed up. Expect plenty grovelling if you come in. -RB'

'Prostration and worship and I might consider forgiving you. -Ru'

'Done. -RB'

'...Why do I get the horrible feeling only one of us was joking? :P -Ru'

'...Get bent. -RB'

'I might come in just to wash your mouth out Richie. -Ru'

'Promises promises… -RB'

Richard freezes clutching the phone and trying to recall the text with the power of his mind. He's supposed to be apologising not flirting…

'Okay I suppose I'll swing in for a bit today. Wear something pretty. -Ru'

'You've seen what I wear right? -RB'

'I thought you were submitting to my whims for the sake of my forgiveness? -Ru'

'Anything for King Ru, but I literally only own jeans and cardigans. I'm the least stylish gay ever. -RB'

'Make the jeans tight and King Ru may be appeased, lowly actor. -Ru'

'I can't prostrate in tight jeans genius. -RB'

'I'm going to come in just to hit that smart mouth. Obviously staring at your arse is more socially acceptable than getting you on your knees where impressionable little ballerinas might see you. -Ru'

'Demanding, aren't you? -RB'

'New Boy, you have no idea… -Ru'

'I'd hate to think what you're like when someone gets crumbs in your bed. -RB'

'What sort of animal eats in bed? -Ru'  
'Seriously, someone would die. -Ru'  
'Too soon? -Ru'

Richard bites his lip. 'Thank you for that, by the way. -RB'

'...Next time just suck up your pride and let me make sure you're home safe the normal way. -Ru'

'Wasn't my pride that stopped me. And my minder's back in tow so you've got nothing to worry about. -RB'

'Ruby mentioned. Says he's… interesting. -Ru'

'Tactful girl. -RB'

'Reckon she can handle him. -Ru'

'Reckon you could handle me? -RB'

Ruaridh stares at the text, pleased and sad expressions at war on his face. 'Darling, I'm the one who can't be handled. -Ru'

Before Richard can reply, Ruaridh adds, 'I should let you get ready. I'll go shower then I'll head to the theatre. -Ru'

'Probably a good idea. Going to take me a while to find the right jeans. -RB'

'I'm sure you pull off anything beautifully. -Ru'

'See you soon. -RB'

Richard smiles at his phone then starts getting dressed. He absolutely refuses to think about what Jim might say.

Ruaridh gives his phone a weary look and runs his hand over some of his scars. He just can't keep a hold of his mouth apparently, even when he's texting.

He pulls himself off of the bed and trudges to the shower. Part of Ruaridh is now dreading seeing Richard, and the worst thing is, that another part of him isn't dreading the interaction at all.

“You're in a good mood,” Severin comments with mild surprise and interest as Richard comes bouncing through to the kitchen.

“Am I?” Richard smiles, taking the coffee Severin has made.

Severin tilts his head back to look Richard over. “And those are interesting.”

Standing almost hip to hip with Severin against the counter, Richard blushes a little. “I can make an effort sometimes can't I?”

Severin raises a brow, but he's still staring at how Richie fills those tiny jeans. “Someone you're making an effort for?” he asks pointedly.

Richard hides his face over his mug. “Ruaridh's back today.”

Severin pulls his eyes back up to Richard's face. “Ooh, _Ruaridh_ is back is he?” he teases.

“Shut up,” Richard mumbles without malice.

Severin picks up his own coffee and lets it burn his tongue as he wonders whether those jeans are going to make it difficult to concentrate on his job.

Well he has to concentrate on his job or Moriarty will kill him.

Severin's gaze drops to Richard's bum again.

Ruaridh is caught up in a whirlwind as he returns to the theatre, a glue gun being thrust into his hand as he's bustled through to deal with the sudden madness of costume making.

It's a damn sight better than being persuaded into fighting with any of the accursed sewing machines. Ruaridh gets into his task swiftly, finding that he enjoys being deeply occupied amidst the chaos. The costume mistress Yikera gives him a pleased look from over a mountain of fabric whilst some of the older performers take measurements of the younger ones.

It's lunch time before Ruaridh actually gets to lift his head, and he feels something tug in his chest as he catches sight of Richard.

Who really is wearing great jeans.

Ruaridh picks glue and sequins off of his fingers nervously. “Hey, New Boy.”

Richard smiles and walks over, flanked by a blond wall of muscle. Ruaridh doesn't flinch.

Richard's mouth is suddenly dry. “Are we good?”

Ruaridh cracks a strange smile. “Course we're good.”

Richard smiles, and it twists something in Severin's gut.

Ruaridh disappears back through to the children's company after lunch with a promise to text later.

When Richard's troupe finally break for the day it catches his attention the way Blue seems surprised to see Ruby bustling past, barely visible but for her nondescript Converse and her lycra coated ankles beneath a mountain of frothy pink material. Blue darts after her.

Richard looks up to Severin to see if he's sensed something odd, but there's an expression on Severin's face Richard doesn't understand at all.


	10. Chapter 10

The play is coming together and the other actors are warming to Richard. It's enough to put the brunet in a good mood, so when Ruaridh makes a point of them spending time together, going over lines whilst the young man with the strange accent hand embroiders costumes, Richard is grinning wide.

He's practically floating off of the ground as he walks home with Severin. The blond is somewhat amused by Richard's adorable elation, teasing playfully as they walk, but something unpleasant twists in his gut.

Jealousy. Severin is painfully jealous.

Ruaridh is lithe and flirty with a wide, winning grin for everyone and a charming lilt to his voice and eyes that sparkle. Eyes that light up upon sight of Richard.

And Richard, Christ.

Richard is small and gentle with an expressive little mouth and wide, brown eyes and scruffy, fluffy hair and tiny hands and an utterly perfect behind that he mostly hides under ridiculous cardigans that might fit Severin if he had zero taste in clothing.

Richard is sweet and excitable and a little bit cheeky, playfully bantering with Ruaridh when he feels comfortable. He widens his eyes and pouts and rolls about laughing, unmindful of dirtying his cream cardigan, as he bonds with Ruaridh.

Ruaridh who makes costumes for little girls as though the part of him that can stick a butterfly knife into someone is buried rather deep.

Richard is equally fascinating and charming in Severin's company. The little guy rattles on happily about his day, skipping a little as they walk, and chewing adorably on his sleeve with a little wrinkle of his brows whenever he considers something. Richard widens his eyes earnestly at Severin's every reply, listening intently. He smiles and giggles and blushes and snorts and shakes his head and quips and lightly punches Severin's chest, and itis all Severin can do not to catch that little wrist and stare down Richie until the brunet _knows_.

Which would be a suicide mission, because Jim Moriarty will _skin_ any employee who dares to bed his sweet little unassuming twin Richie. Severin gets away with a certain bit of rulebending for being blessed with the dubious honour of being the twin of Jim's second and bed partner...

Severin knows fine well that position will not spare him Jim's considerable wrath should the brunet realise Severin's developing feelings for Richard Brooke.

Of all people, why did it have to be Richard?

Severin considers Ruby. He is attracted to her, certainly, and… if he is really honest with himself and he doesn't want to be but he can kind of sort of see the attraction of Ruaridh…

But they're not Richard.

Richard is adorable and funny, hiding a darker side that comes from being Jim Moriarty's twin, but not being tainted by it in the least. Richard is loyal and self sacrificing and kind and wrinkles his nose when teased.

He smells good and he's not at all afraid of Severin's bulk, dancing easily in and out of touching distance, and murmuring with sparkling eyes the sort of insults that would earn him a punch on the shoulder or a slap on the arse if he wasn't Jim's brother.

And he knows it, giggling wickedly as he skips out of reach.

He gasps mockingly at the curses Severin throws after him. “That's not very professional, is it?”

Severin's eyes are warm and smiling as he promises, “I'll kill you, arse.”

Richard pouts, pulling his ugly cardigan around himself. “What would your boss say?” he sniffs playfully.

“Probably commend me on how long I resisted beating your deserving ass,” Severin grumbles.

“You wish,” Richard says, tilting his chin upwards, eyes shining, and slapping his own rump tauntingly.

He goes scarlet. Utterly, adorably, scarlet.

Severin loves that about him: how Richard can be so cocky one moment then his brain catches up with him and he's mortified and just needs swept up in Severin's arms, or teased further.

Further teasing is the safest option right now.

“Remembered yourself, little tease?” Severin drawls in amusement, loving how Richard squirms.

“Shoot me whenever I open my mouth,” Richard moans.

“I can think of other things it could be good for,” Severin responds, grinning outwardly at Richie's little look of embarrassed shock, and absolutely utterly not meaning it.

Nope, not at all.

Especially when Richard unfreezes and runs after the Moran, whining, “Severinnnnn,” chidingly in a way that makes Severin want to catch him in his arms and swing the little brunet down for a kiss.

Fucked. Severin is fucked.


	11. Chapter 11

“Fuckin' moffie.”

Jim bristles inwardly at that, but it takes him seconds to place the voice. Not Welsh, although the slur is, and as Jim approaches the table he catches the eye of a grinning chameleon. She holds his gaze for a moment, amused, then reaches across the table where some of the Northerners have set up a card game and tugs her winnings towards herself.

Llewellyn, called Lou by most of Jim's lazier employees, grimaces playfully at her. “I swear you're a fucking cheat.”

Another grin. “Ah maybe, but if you canna catch me at it you deserve to get robbed blind,” she winks.

“Morgan,” Jim prompts, a cold bite of amusement in his voice. “Are you playing nice?”

She leans over the back of her chair, giving him a casual, fond smile. She's not unafraid of him as such, but she's more used to the company of deadly men than not. “Not a pretty red smile amongst them, Boss, so I'd say that I was, aye.”

He raises a brow at her, and she exposes more of her teeth, like he's shown approval. The men around her shift uneasily. They should, because as a rule Jim doesn't tolerate flippant familiarity, but having special rules for the odd employee or two adds to his unpredictable reputation.

Jim also likes 'Morgan' because she's cleverer than most of his employees fully realise, but he's certainly never likely to tell her. She knows though, and it makes her loyal, so he hasn't killed her for knowing yet.

“Got a job for you,” Jim declares.

Morgan stands, completely disregarding her spoils because she doesn't need the money and just likes exasperating her colleagues. Jim scoops up a few large notes before the winnings are redistributed. “You'll need to wear something that makes Seb look less conspicuous.”

Morgan's fingers curl around the cash and she smirks, leaning close enough to feign a kiss to Jim's cheek. “Anything for you, Sir.”

“Fucked up bitch,” Jim responds calmly. She smirks, brows raisingly playfully, and she steps back, giving him his space.

“Isn't that why you like me?”

Jim likes her because she's unpredictable but obedient, with enough initiative but not too much, performs perfectly well under pressure, and will get the job done even if her bones are broken and at least three of her limbs are dislocated.

And she's clever.

He can utilise her in different environments. Her scars and tattoos are nothing that a well cut gown and a pair of evening gloves can't hide, and her voice automatically loses all traces of Glasgow and violence if she's in better settings.

Technically, her accent is not Glaswegian, but most of the English can't recognise that.

Most of the time, it's a mixed bag. There's a lot of Glasgow and Greater Glasgow in there, but there's also twangs and lilts from all over the West Coast and a fair bit of pure Edinburgh (not Leith). She acknowledges things with 'ken' and can understand drunken Dorrit if she concentrates.

It's not just Scottish accents either. Jim's heard Morgan dip in and out of Africaans and there's a consistent Australian accent to certain words -mostly Victoria but not exclusively. She has a fair handle on a number of European languages (and she has enough understanding of Italian and Spanish to translate Chilean) but she doesn't understand French unless she's half asleep.

And damn, when she's been drinking or ill that Cork accent raises its head, and she gives Jim such an interesting, guilty look like he might take offence to that.

Jim likes her fluid inconsistency. Morgan tells her colleagues that she's Scottish, just moved around a lot, but Jim knows a mimic when he meets one. It's become a game of theirs: he'll display an accent for her and she'll use it consistently throughout a job, melting into the persona he's given her like it belonged to her in the first place.

Jim's half tempted to tell her South London today, because he knows she hates it here, can't stand anything south of Manchester, just because she'll smirk and roll her eyes and do exactly as she's told anyway. But Jim doesn't.

“Lahn-dawn,” he drawls.

Morgan meets his eyes in dry amusement. “Prick,” she mutters, a soft, almost-North-London-but-could-be-Upper-Central accent rolling from her pierced tongue.

Jim smirks back at her. “Just because you have a talented mouth doesn't mean I'd hesitate to cut your tongue out, sweet bit.”

“Flirt,” Morgan smiles, falling into step easily just half a pace behind him. Respectful.

“I want you to check on a certain actor for me,” Jim announces.

Morgan smiles. She likes Richard, and he likes her. As far as jobs go, this is kind of a treat. She would protect Jim's brother with her life of course, but usually Jim gives her far more challenging things to do. “When?”

“Buy something _cute_ and I'll have Sebastian text you.”

Morgan winks, and when she meets the blond later she has swapped jeans and a studded leather jacket for girly gym wear. Sebastian instantly looks like an ordinary guy that enjoys the gym, and not a trained killer. His facial scar is a lot less noticeable under a pair of old Oakleys, and Morgan nonchalantly glances up at the pale English sun as though she's not a milky Scot. Perhaps she's Cork born after all.

It might explain those mutters of 'oh, well let the devil have you' when she starts losing at cards.

“How are you?” Sebastian murmurs.

“All fingers, all toes, can breath through my nose,” Morgan sing songs. “Very passable, Moran.”

He snorts. “That luck's going to run out some time, short arse.”

She gives him a mock glare. “I'd ask after your health, but it's not going to last, talking to me like that. Would you call His Snarkiness that?”

“He pays my bills,” Sebastian says easily.

“And beats your arse,” Morgan mutters.

He pushes her a little, but only enough to look like friends to observers. “Better than the bullet in the skull for being overheard calling him 'His Snarkiness',” Sebastian retorts.

Morgan runs her small hands theatrically over her head. “Nope, no entry wound; he must like it,” she grins.

Sebastian tries not to smirk back, but she can see the amusement in his eyes. “Daft bitch.”

Morgan sticks out her tongue and lets them both into the lobby of Richard's apartment. “Smarter than _you_ , Muscles.”

Richard rolls his eyes at the pair as he lets them in. “Really? Checking up on me already?”

“You got attacked a few days ago; not like Jim doesn't have reason to be worried,” Sebastian shrugs.

“He's got your brother watching me; how unsafe could I be?” Richard grumbles. But he makes tea, and feels comfortable catching up with Morgan as Severin briefs Sebastian.

Although…

Richard cannot help but listen in. He's interested in what Severin has to say, and it's interesting watching the blonds together. The Moran brothers are so similar and yet also not.

Morgan takes it all in with subtle, knowing glances, and she starts to pay precise attention to Severin. Which Richard hardly notices, because he's doing the same thing.

Severin stiffens a little at the attention, but carries on as though nothing's wrong.

Morgan hangs back to tut quietly at him when Sebastian thinks they're done. “Careful, mate,” she murmurs, “you might get burned.”

Severin swallows. “I'm not-”

“Lies don't work on me, Sevvy, you know that,” Morgan chides quietly. “Just for fuck's sake be careful.”

Severin leans forward urgently, aware there is mere moments before Sebastian and Richard look back in curiosity. “I'm not-”

Morgan makes a disparaging noise, squeezes his bicep, and drifts out of the flat.

Sebastian chews his lip as soon as he and Morgan are outside. She's good at reading people. And something weird was definitely in the air in there.

“Well?” he asks.

She purses her lips. “Richie's _safe_ ,” she says slowly. Although Severin Moran might not be, if he notices Richard reciprocates.


	12. Chapter 12

Severin is uncertain how he feels about Richard's habit of going to the theatre early to enjoy the company of his friends. (This is not true: Severin lies to himself. He is jealous. Definitely jealous).

Music trails from the main stage as the men enter. It's none of the music they recognise from the youth company's play or any of the dancers' pieces.

Severin raises a brow at Richie, and Richard leads curiously through to the intriguing noise. As the door opens the sound becomes less muffled: a haunting, jagged song.

Some young women are playing around on the stage. As Severin and Richard walk closer quietly it becomes clear that the trio is made up of Blue, Amy and Ruby.

Amy flicks the song back to the start and Blue moves to centre stage. An instrumental version of Of Verona's 'Dark in My Imagination' weaves through the musty space and Ruby begins to sing.

“There's something in the look you give...”

Amy steps quickly on her toes towards Blue as they share pointed eye contact. 

“I can’t help myself I fall;  
“I can’t help myself at all...”

Blue reaches for Amy's hand as it stretches out and they each dip backwards suddenly, brushing fingers, then twist back up towards each other.

“There's something in your touch when we kiss-”

The women press flush to each other. Their palms twist together fluidly.

“I scream God forgive me please  
“‘Cause I want you on your knees...”

Blue arches backwards, her knees lowering, and her arms fly stiff behind her back, fingers fisting. As though her body is screaming to some higher force. As she does, Amy arches forwards, dropping to the floor, fists before herself. As though succumbing to Blue.

“But I don’t wanna think about it now...  
“I know I won't get out if I fall in  
“So I don't wanna think about it now...  
“It’s dark in my imagination  
“It’s dark in my imagination...”

Blue twists away, drawing sharp fists up to near her face, raised elbows at ninety degree angles, and begins to sway and dip as Amy writhes slowly on the floor, stepping through the shapes Amy makes with her legs.

“There's something in the look you give...  
“Now are you giving it to her ‘cause I’m not entirely sure;  
“Can’t help but wonder where you’ve been all day?  
“Just say when I'm so far away that you give yourself a taste...”

The two girls lean to each other as though their faces are attracting magnets and their bodies merely weights. Amy is a talented dancer, but Blue's expressions and body language add something extra to the performance, making it hard not to fixate on her. She circles Amy exuding suspicion, doubt and torment. They chase each other slowly over the stage then turn back to back: Blue arches upwards again, fisting her eyes, as Amy drops to her elbows, arching seductively at nothing.

“‘Cause I don't wanna think about it now...  
“I know I won't get out if I fall in  
“So I don't wanna think about it now...  
“It’s dark in my imagination  
“It’s dark in my imagination  
“Dark in my imagination  
“Dark in my imagination...”

Richard draws in his shoulders and grips his thin arms under the wool of his oversized cardigan.

“I don't wanna think about it now...  
“Is it all in my head..?  
“Are you somewhere waiting for me?  
“I don't wanna think about it now...  
“Is there something you said?  
“All these secrets that you keep-”

Severin frowns and steps closer to Richard. “Are you okay?”

“But I don't wanna think about it now  
“I don’t wanna think about it now  
“I don’t wanna think about it now...  
“It’s dark in my imagination  
“I don’t wanna think about it now...”

Richard feels a little sick. His peers are painfully talented, and here he is… hiding his talent. He could be holding them up, but he's not. Not at all.

They're amazing.

Why is he wasting their time?

Richard frowns, pinching his arms a little. He's so selfish: forcing himself on these people just so he can have something for himself when he cannot possibly offer them anything in return.

“Richie?” Severin prompts.

Richard tries to raise his head at the noise, but he feels so…

There is a hand on his shoulder, and Severin is leading Richard firmly but quietly back out into the hallway.

“Are you alright?” the blond repeats.

“Sorry,” Richard mumbles. 

“What happened?” Severin asks.

“I don't...” Richard sighs tightly. “I don't know what I'm doing here.”

“What do you mean?” Severin asks.

“...I should go,” Richard says. He turns abruptly to do so.

Severin puts a hand on the slim shoulder. “Wait, what..?”

“I should go home,” Richard announces.

“Are you sick?” Severin asks.

“No, I-”

“Richie, they're depending on you. What-”

“I'm _going_ ,” Richard says fiercely.

“Should we at least tell..?” Severin trails off: Richard is already almost at the exit. “Wait!”


	13. Chapter 13

Severin has to run to catch up with Richard, and his concern turns to annoyance at having to do so. The blond takes grip of Richard's sleeve and spins him around roughly.

“I said to wait!” Severin snaps.

Richard has a strange expression on his face. He clenches his white fists and retorts, “You're my minder not my _keeper_. I'll go where I like.”

“I'm not stopping you going anywhere!” Severin grumbles. “I just need to have some warning so I can keep up.”

Richard glares for a moment, and for a surprising instant Severin thinks Richard will try to hit him, but then the actor spins off again, walking away with swift, angry paces.

“What the hell, Richie?” Severin calls after him.

Richard rubs his face irritably and storms up to his flat. He's not going to cry; he's not. He's going to rage out his humiliation until he wears himself out, because if he doesn't, the anxiety will drown him.

Severin feels utterly bewildered and more than a shade freaked out. Shy, meek, little Richie is vibrating with nervous energy, frowning and twitching in a way that runs chills down the bodyguard's back. Richard seems so unlike himself that it fills Severin's gut with burning bile as the blond wonders whether the little actor has been triggered or drugged.

But then Richard yelled at Ruaridh when the bigger guy was armed, didn't he?

And he's Jim Moriarty's _twin_ , so maybe this behaviour is actually normal for Richie. Maybe Severin has just never seen this before.

Richard's dark side.

It might have fascinated Severin were it not for Richard's evident unhappiness. The sight makes the blond feel awful.

“Come here,” Severin says. “Richie, can you let me see you?”

Richard whirls around, and he raises half his wrinkled brow. “What?”

“Can I just… Look don't freak out, okay?” Severin murmurs, stepping uncommonly close to check Richard's eyes.

Richard freezes for a split second, staring at the handsome larger man in their new proximity. Then he jerks back, arms stiff and bent defensively at the elbows, barking, “Quit it!”

“Richard, I just want to check you're alright, okay?” Severin says slowly. “Can I check your pulse?”

“I'm fine!” Richard growls. 

“You don't seem fine, Richie,” Severin says mildly.

“I'm not sick,” Richard says bluntly.

“Then what just happened? What's going on, Richard?”

“Nothing, just… Just leave me alone, alright?” Richard says.

“I can't leave you alone, something could happen,” Severin disagrees.

“Leave me alone, Moran,” Richard snaps. “It would be better for everyone if someone did get me.”

Severin stops walking. “ _What_?”

“You head me! Just… Just give me some space, yeah? I'm not… I'm such a...” Richard trails off. He searches agitatedly for his keys and scratches the door's key plate as he tries to make one meet the lock.

“Here, let me,” Severin offers, feeling stressed.

“What part of _back off_ are you not getting?” Richard howls, stabbing his key at the door and scratching the paint.

Severin shakes his head. “There is no fucking way I'm leaving you alone in this state. You can just accept that.”

“I'm wasting your time,” Richard mutters. “You could be doing something far more practical than babysitting me.”

“I _like_ working with you,” Severin argues.

Richard's gaze flickers for a moment. “Really?” he blurts.

“Obviously,” Severin says. He holds out his wrist. “Here, let me show you.”

Richard gives him a dubious look. Severin reaches out his other hand to take Richard's and guides it to feel his pulse.

“Feel how worried I am?” Severin asks in a calm voice.

Richard stares unblinkingly at his bodyguard's wrist. Severin's pulse kicks faster than a rabbit.

“If I didn't like you as a person this would be barely elevated, and I'd probably just manhandle you into submission,” Severin says.

“Why would you like me?” Richard asks pitifully.

Severin sighs. “Why wouldn't I like you, mate?”

Richard wraps his cardigan around himself. “I'm fucking useless,” he says darkly.

“You're really not,” Severin says.

“How could you know that? You don't know me,” Richard says sadly.

Severin sighs. “I know you well enough. Give me your keys and I'll fix us some drinks and you can tell me what you mean, okay?”

“Wasting your time,” Richard says dully but he holds out his hand obediently.

“I'm really not,” Severin says. He shepherds Richard back towards the door with one arm and opens it with the other. “Come on.”

Richard allows himself to be led into the kitchen.

“Sit,” Severin commands.

Richard shakes his head. He feels like he's breaking apart and Severin is the only thing steady enough to push against the force of the growing cracks.

Severin looks around when the smaller man doesn't move. The blond quickly notes that Richie is hovering close with that reluctance to move. “Alright: stay if you like,” Severin says.

“Are… Are you mad?” Richard asks timidly.

Severin looks at him. “Confused. Mostly worried.”

“M'sorry. Don't want to worry you,” Richard mumbles.

Severin pats the actor's thin shoulder reassuringly. “That's what I'm here for, okay?”

Richard shakes his head. “You're here so I don't get hurt by anyone who knows Jim. You're not here for my wobbles.”

It's probably not professional, but Severin crooks a calloused finger and uses it to lift Richard's slightly pointed chin. “I am absolutely here for your wobbles.”

Richard swallows.

“Do you want me to tell Jim about this?” Severin asks.

Richard shakes his head. “He'll just think I didn't take my pills.”

“Pills for what?” 

“Anxiety. But I did take them. They just don't always… They make it better but they don't make it go away,” Richard sighs.

“Do you feel anxious now?”

“Not as much,” says Richard.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Richard answers softly, “You're already helping. Thank you.”

Severin gives an honest, warm smile. “I'm glad.”

Richard blinks quickly, and snatches the heel of his palm to an eye as a fat tear drops from it.

Severin pulls the smaller man to his chest unthinkingly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sorry, I'm being stupid,” Richard mumbles. He hides his face in Severin's shirt, feeling comforted by its scent, and Severin feels dampness spread across the fabric.

“Feelings aren't stupid and neither are you,” Severin says.

Richard chortles wetly. “If you say so.”

“I _do_ say so,” Severin says firmly. “Look at me.”

Richard pulls back a little but keeps his head bowed as he wipes at his tears.

Severin lifts the man's chin again. “You're just right, okay?” he tells those swimming eyes.

“Wh-why are you so nice to me?” Richard asks.

“Because you deserve it,” Severin says.

“No I don't,” Richard says with certainty.

“Richie, yes you do,” Severin says firmly. He fixes the brunet with a look.

Before he can think through the action Richard leans up and closes the distance between their lips.


	14. Chapter 14

Severin quite loses his grasp of common sense the instant Richard's lips cover his own. The blond's hand moves of its own accord to cup Richard's jaw and there is not an instant of hesitance before Severin parts his own lips in welcome. The brunet smells good and his small hands wrap around the back of Severin's neck, pulling the bigger man in.

Severin doesn't entirely understand this new turn of events, but he drops his large hands down to Richard's slim hips and swings the brunet up easily onto the counter to put them at eye level. Richard makes a bizarre noise of encouragement somewhere in his throat, a mix of a squeak and a growl, and Severin presses closer in response. Richard parts his legs to draw the blond closer still, then curls them tightly around Severin's hips, smiling into the kiss at Severin's gasp of pleasure. The denim of Richie's jeans is warm and scratchy as it pushes up the hem of Severin's top.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, _yes_ … wait. No.

Richie currently has tear tracks on his face for fuck's sake. This isn't right.

Severin slides his hands down to Richard's shoulders and pulls back. The brunet blinks at him curiously then freezes, sensing something negative in the way Severin stands and breathes.

“What… what's wrong?” Richard asks. He hates the way his voice sounds.

Severin hates it too, and guilt cuts through him. Hurt is the last emotion he wants Richie to feel. The blond rubs circles into Richard's shoulder with his thumb and meets those dark eyes, hate, hate, hating what he's about to ask: “This isn't really what you want; is it?”

Richard crinkles his forehead in confusion. “What?”

Severin brushes Richard's damp lashes gently. “It's not really me you want right now, is it? You just need some reassurance.”

“Severin, I-”

“I don't want to take advantage,” Severin says starkly. “We could do something else, or, um, you could check if Ruaridh's free or something?”

Doesn't that feel like acid on Severin's tongue? But the little brunet is open about his attraction to the tattooed set painter, and he's never shown such interest in Severin before.

Richard shakes his head slowly. “Why would you think you were taking advantage?”

“You were feeling vulnerable and I started kissing you,” Severin says. “I shouldn't have done that… I'm sorry.”

“ _I_ kissed _you_ ,” Richard says softly.

“Yeah, but _you_ were upset,” Severin responds.

Richard nods slowly, his eyes starting to narrow. “So you think I don't know my own mind? I have to be protected from myself?”

“That is _not_ what I said,” Severin argues.

Richard tilts his chin upwards challengingly. “What, then?”

“Well it's not like I'm Ruaridh, is it?” Severin says, hating how the words make his gut twist.

“You're an asshole,” Richard says as he drops down from the counter. “If you're too afraid of my brother you could have just said.”

Wait, what?

 _Fuck_. How could Severin forget about Jim Moriarty? (How could he be expected to remember anything when Richie was kissing him?)

“Richie, I didn't-”

“Save it,” Richard sighs. “You don't need to worry, I won't go tell my big brother on you. Christ.”

“Richie...”

“Don't,” Richard snaps. He holds up his palms as though to ward off the argument brewing on his tongue then storms towards his room.

“Don't you want a drink?” Severin calls after him pathetically.

“I don't know; do I?” Richard spits, “Seeing as I don't know my own mind and all.” He slams the bedroom door behind him.

Well, shit. Severin handled that magnificently.

See, this is why he's gay: nature knows he shouldn't pass his complete lack of brains onto some poor unfortunate offspring. (Severin completely ignores the fact that he is also attracted to girls as he continues to scold himself internally).

Richard simmers in his room and tells himself that there will be not hot, angry tears even as they prick his eyes. He's so fucking _uselessssss_. Obviously someone like Severin wouldn't actually want him.

Even though it had felt like the blond really, really did. Until he pulled away.

Pathetic.

Richard's phone vibrates, breaking him momentarily out of his brooding mood. His heart freezes as he wonders whether Jim has the apartment bugged. Did he _see_ that?

Feeling, apprehensive, wary and mortified, Richard picks up his mobile.

 _Not Jim_. Richard breathes a sigh of relief. He might be upset right now, but he has no desire for the blond to have his throat slit. Or worse.

Richard focuses on the text before him. 'U OK? -Ru'

'No.'  
'Wait, yes. Obviously yes. -RB'

'Not so obvious, Blue said you didn't show today. Are you sick? -Ru'

Richard sighs at the screen. There must be something wrong with him that he couldn't navigate relationships with likable men.

'I think so. -RB'


	15. Chapter 15

Severin startles as the flat's buzzer goes off.

Richard steps out of his room, a little rougher with his door than necessary, and curls his lip as he looks at the blond. “It's alright: it's for me.”

Something in Richard's voice or expression gives Severin pause. “You're not supposed to have visitors without the boss' say so.”

“And I'm not supposed to kiss my minders either, so what's it to you?” the brunet snaps. He crosses over to the front door.

Severin's stomach twists at the distaste in Richie's gaze, and twists even harder as the actor opens the door to Ruaridh of all people.

The tattooed prick is holding up a flask and wearing a smile that's both charming and concerned. Severin's eyes narrow with dislike.

“Brought you soup,” Ruaridh says. “Since you're sick.”

Richard swallows and tries not to glance at Severin guiltily. “Th-thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” Ruaridh asks as he steps inside. “You don't look good.”

Richard shrugs. “Better for seeing you, even if you have no manners.”

Ruaridh embraces him lightly. “Well I'm here risking contamination and I made you food with these dainty hands so surely that counts for something?”

Richard's lips quirk. “I'm not contagious. And you both cook and sew? Are all those tattoos just misdirection for your inner femme?”

Ruaridh chokes. “Don't get cocky, new boy; I'll still punch you when you're sick.”

Richard rolls his eyes and lets the other boy past.

Ruaridh smiles and leaves the flask on the counter. “Hi, Severin.”

The blond doesn't turn his head to glance at the interloper and grunts in acknowledgement.

Ruaridh smile shrinks. “Have I missed something?”

Richard curls his lip. “Don't mind him: Nurse Moran is sulking because he warned me I had an episode coming on and I didn't listen.”

“What can I say, I care about your welfare,” Severin grumbles. He pushes to his feet. “I'm going out to the balcony for a smoke. Have fun, kids.”

Ruaridh raises his hand in a mild wave and turns to Richard with a frown as soon as Severin steps outside. “What did you _do_ to him?”

Richard blinks. “ _M-me?_ ”

“You've obviously hurt his feelings,” Ruaridh frowns.

Richard splutters. “I-?”

Ruaridh raises a brow. “You have no social skills at all, do you? Did you not see his shoulders? His _face_?”

Richard swallows, appalled to be the one taking the blame for earlier. “H-he _started_ it!”

“Well maybe you snapped at him a bit too hard,” Ruaridh suggests, his tone reminding Richard that he has not forgotten the scolding that came between themselves. “He really cares about you, you know.”

Richard looks from Ruaridh to Severin's profile through the strengthened glass. “What do you mean?”

Ruaridh lets out a huff of air as though exasperated with a show of stupidity. “Being your minder is obviously not just a job to him. You're normally close.”

Richard is quiet. He watches Severin's stiff back as the muscular man stubs out a cigarette on the wrought iron bannister. 

“You're cute, Richie, but you are fucking stupid,” Ruaridh sighs.

Richard snaps his head around with a mildly offended expression.

Ruaridh rolls his eyes and strolls towards the glass doors. He knocks on a pane.

Severin stiffens but turns around quizzically. Ruaridh pushes down on the handle and swings his head around the door. A muscle twitches in Severin's jaw as he represses the urge to slam the door on the pretty boy's neck.

“Can I borrow you for a minute?” Ruaridh asks brightly.

Severin raises a brow but sighs and pushes away from the balcony. “Fine.”

Ruaridh leads Severin back inside and gives Richard a look. “You, sit down.”

Richard opens his mouth to protest but sighs and obeys instead.

Ruaridh flicks his head to Severin. “At his side please.”

Severin bristles at the command but senses a change in atmosphere. He seats himself.

Ruaridh crosses his arms. “I don't know what's happened between you two -and I don't really care- just fix it.”

Severin sits back, surprised. Perhaps he shouldn't resent the twunk so much.

“I'll see you later, sick boy,” Ruaridh announces. “You both better be made up by the time you come back to the theatre!”

Severin frowns as he watches the set painter leave then turns a slightly dazed expression on Richard.

Richie looks at his hands. “Apparently Ru thinks I'm the one in the wrong today...”

“You told him??” Severin blurts.

“Apparently our body language speaks volumes,” the brunet huffs.

Severin swallows. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

Richard takes a breath. “You're upset that I'm mad at you, a-aren't you?”

Severin rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. “Doesn't make me any less competent at my job, but… you can ask Jim to swap me out if it makes you happier.”

“Answer the question,” Richard says firmly, with something like his brother in his manner. It gives Severin chills.

“Yeah,” the blond admits tightly.


	16. Chapter 16

Richard Brook is a confusing, exasperating little vixen, and he is going to be the death of Severin, the blond considers as they wander into the theatre the next day. The dark-haired actor chews his fresh cardigan sleeve constantly, gaze thoughtful, and leaves the wool smelling like spearmint and spit.

They jump each time they brush against each other.

Making grim faces, Severin and Richard step into the rehearsal space and try to respond to concerned small talk about their absence yesterday. Yes, yes, Richard was sick, they agree, feeling odd and tense about the lie. Yes, he's fine now, and yes, it's good to be back.

It's not.

Well, it would be, if they both didn't feel full of some electric, intense, bewildering energy.

It's impossible not to feel the sparks and the magnetic pull. Something has shifted between them, and that should be nice and giddying, but it's not. It feels like they've shifted the plates of the earth and rearranged the stars on a whim, scattering burning atoms across the sky like mere dust motes in the sunlight of a suddenly exposed window.

They've discovered something bright and beautiful and fascinatingly impossible to turn away from.

It's going to kill them (Severin physically, then Richard emotionally) and there's nothing they can do to freeze the progress they have begun.

It's too much. The air feels charged with what they have done, and it's unbearable to wade through the company of others during rehearsal. They need to talk. They need to see each other, just them, close and intent. They need to…

They need to touch.

Richard feels jittery as a teacup chichuahua on expresso shots and he worries his unfortunate cardigan in his mouth as his acting company breaks for lunch. He makes eye contact with Severin anxiously, marvelling at the blond's almost equally tense appearance, and jerks his head to the door.

Severin bolts up from his uncomfortable, plastic chair and follows instantly. The others are left staring at their swiftly departing backs in bemusement.

“O-oh my God,” Richard exhales and paces in a circle.

“I know,” Severin mutters, rubbing his own neck uneasily. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Richard snorts, wrinkling his nose. “Yes? Maybe..?”

“We don't have to do it again,” the blond offers quietly.

Richard looks up instantly, appalled and a little annoyed. “Don't you start that again,” he warns.

“Well, what do you want?” Severin asks, sounding a little lost. Confident, handsome, capable Severin, sounding lost because of Richard's whims.

“I want you, idiot,” the brunet retorts with a scowl.

Severin's shoulders slump in relief, but his expression and fists remain tight. This is a death sentence.

“We don't let him find out,” Richard says firmly.

Severin runs a hand through his hair. “Then we're going to have to hide it better.”

Richard swallows and his eyes glitter as he thinks. “We just need to get it out of our system before anyone sees us. Keep sated, so we can pretend to be calm.”

Severin laughs shakily. “You think we can _sate_ this?”

Richard's mouth spreads in a slow smile. “We'll have to try. _I_ might actually get to stretch my acting muscles for once. _You're_ going to have to look far less… this...” He waves his hand expansively.

Severin shudders out another laugh. “I'll try.”

“Severin?”

The blond blinks at the abruptly intense look in the little brunet's eyes. Severin lips his abruptly dry lips. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me. Now,” Richard demands.

Severin knows he should absolutely say no, but his body refuses to deny Richard, and walks towards the brunet before he can stop it.

Richard leaps up to pull Severin's mouth to his, and suddenly it feels like sparks burning Severin's lips, tingling along his nerves, and his fingers feel numb, and Richard is breathing heavily, and Severin feels dizzy, and his lips are so wet, and Richard's tongue is so eager, and Severin's going to have a damp patch at the front of his jeans, and...

Wait.

Severin and Richard leap away from each other when they become aware not of a noise, but of a sudden absence. They had not consciously noticed approaching footsteps but they do notice when they quieten abruptly.

There is an intake of breath.

The couple stare in guilt and horror at Ruaridh.

He gives a shaky laugh. “Guess I got what I asked for,” he says weakly, then steps backwards, turns, and bolts away.

“F-fuck!” Richard murmurs.

Severin feels a sharp twist of pain. “Go after him if you want.”

The brunet looks up sharply. “What? I… No, Rinn. I'm where I want to be.”


	17. Chapter 17

Ruaridh does not appear the next day, and it isn't until lunchtime that the new couple spy Ruby picking up the slack by working details into set pieces. She tenses at the sight of them then forces her shoulders to relax. 

She clearly knows.

Severin expects her to say something sharp in defence of her brother but she doesn't. After a beat she merely smears more paint in her hair and mildly chirps, “Hey, boys.”

Richard looks at Severin and the bodyguard stares back. She knows. She knows, and people knowing is dangerous.

“No need to look like that,” she murmurs.

Richard sputters a little.

“Still sick,” Severin blurts.

Ruby raises her brows skeptically. “Right.”

“Um,” Richard searches.

She gives a sympathetic smile. “I don't know anything,” she says cheerfully, and turns back to the set.

“Right,” says Severin slowly.

It becomes clear by the end of the day that the siblings have not said a thing, even to Blue.

All the same, it adds a strange, quivering, crackling, danger to the secret. A secret so new that Severin and Richard hardly know how to process it, and yet they've already let it out.

They can't afford a slip like this, not when they need to keep things quiet from shadow king Jim Moriarty. He lives and breathes on secrets and theirs is deadly.

So horribly deadly.

And yet… Richard gives Severin a look that doesn't quite shield the heat of their lethal insubordination.

It sends a thrill through the larger man that leaves his fingers tingling as though the nerves within have fried. He feels a pit of white-hot, scorching need awaken in his body.

Richie smirks knowingly: that wicked little crazed pixie grin that promises wicked sin from the seemingly shy, innocent little _devil_. Severin swallows.

“Later,” Richard murmurs, and if this is what execution sounds like Severin will bounce gleefully to his early grave.

Such is their infatuation with each other that by the next day they have all but forgotten the danger Ruaridh poses. Or the boy's existence, really.

So it feels like a fall from a dizzying cloud when Richard and Severin walk into the theatre ( _not_ touching) and come face to face with the set painter who _knows_.

He gives a friendly smile, as though not at all jealous of Severin, but the expression quickly turns wry, as though sharing the joke with them both that he has been bested by the broad man.

“Present for you both,” he says playfully.

Severin's expression falls. “What?”

Ruaridh holds up his palms in placation, grinning. “Nothing bad, big boy. No need to punch me.” 

Severin rolls his eyes, but Richard steps forward curiously. “What is it?”

Ruaridh gives a soft smile and pulls a bit of paper out of his pocket and hands it over. “The moment was too good not to capture,” he says a little awkwardly.

Severin frowns and steps closer to see what Richard is holding.

A sketch. A vivid, coloured sketch of Richard and Severin the other day, their moment captured with startling, photorealistic accuracy. 

Ruaridh ducks his head shyly.

“This is beautiful,” Richie says dumbly. 

Severin feels confusion twist his stomach as he agrees. “What's it for?”

Ruaridh shrugs. “I was gonna draw it either way, but I figured it belonged more to you both than it did to me.”

“How'd you get the proportions bang on?”

“Just how I see things,” Ruaridh says. “I'm observant.”

It's the first time Severin's heard such a phrase without threat.


	18. Chapter 18

Despite the soft smiles Ruaridh gives them, Severin and Richard do not find it reassuring that their secret is compromised. The knowing looks the siblings wear is a constant reminder that the couple have been lax… And that is deadly.

It adds an extra nervous energy which seems to tremble right under Richard and Severin's skin whenever they are around each other in the theatre, and follows them all the way home. They shake weakly with every slam of the flat door behind them.

And then it doesn't seem so much terrifying as exhilarating, and Severin is very willingly allowing Richie to press up against him greedily.

The blond brushes his large fingertips slowly over the curves of Richard's cheekbone and marvels at the exuding heat. Something within Richie is molten and it expels a warm glow that burns Severin's thoughts. Richard blinks slowly. The delicate brush of the brunet's sooty lashes against the edges of Severin's fingers tickles in a way that sends an inordinate thrill right up Severin's arm.

Richard flutters his blueish lids closed and inhales Severin's scent deeply. It makes the corners of the little actor's mouth rise.

The evident pleasure Richard takes in Severin's proximity makes the blond's chest swell with pleasure and sends a happy little shiver down to his toes.

“You're so beautiful,” Severin murmurs.

Richard's mouth spreads wide in a quick, genuine smile. He opens his eyes and focuses them on Severin's face.

Severin mirrors the expression with a giddy feeling of contentment.

Richard brushes a delicate hand over his bodyguard's strong chest and enjoys feeling the thud of Severin's heart under his fingers.

“C-Can we..?”

Richard feels Severin's pulse raise in response and smiles.

Severin leans close, his breath warm on Richard's face, and grazes his lips fondly against Richie's upturned nose.

“Anything you like,” the blond agrees. There is a reverence in his tone which is starting to become familiar but always feels to Richard like being jolted by lightening. It's so unexpectedly out of place on such a handsome face and it makes the nervous little actor's knees weak.

Richie wraps his fingers in the wool of Severin's jumper and tilts his mouth up for a dizzying, perfect, miraculous kiss.

*

Somehow time progresses on beyond the kaleidoscope blur of the new relationship and the adult acting troupe's opening night arrives.

It's an odd experience for Richard. He's finally stopped missing his old company, but even more than that, he actually has someone special watching his performance. It's almost enough to be drunk on. It flushes Richie's cheeks under the stage make up and he sleep walks through his role in a giddy, lovesick trance.

It takes everything Severin has not to sweep the brunet into his arms in proud congratulations the instant the curtain remains lowered. The effort makes him twitch, but he does his best not to draw any _more_ knowing looks from Richard's peers. He and Richie are confident that their secret has not been shared, but Blue has been giving them more and more considering looks recently.

“Turquoise Siteli?”

Severin is physically relieved when the beautiful young woman's attention is called away by a delivery girl bearing an expensive bouquet.

“Who the hell is Turquoise Siteli?” Severin asks with a wrinkling of his nose which tugs on Richard's heart. 

Blue snorts and accepts the flowers casually. “You didn't think 'Blue' was short for anything?”

“Not Turquoise,” Richie states dubiously.

Blue shrugs. “Never really liked it. Always felt a bit clunky and pretentious.”

“Unlike Blue?” Severin teases with a small, wry smile.

She chuckles and dips her head to inhale the scent of her gift.

Richard frowns a little. “I f-feel bad that I didn't know that.”

Blue smiles patiently and shakes her head with a playful grin. “It's alright, don't feel stupid. I mean, Scripts doesn't even know that Ruaridh and Ruby are...” 

She trails off quickly. 

“Are what?” Richard asks. 

“Are twins,” Blue says, a little heat rising up her dark cheeks like she's said something dirty.

Richard laughs politely in response but something in Blue's agitation gives him pause. The woman makes an excuse and disappears with her flowers.

Wordsworth snorts at her exit. “Scripts' nose is going to be out of joint.”

“Especially when she realises they're from Kwento,” Thomas mutters.

The three men look at him quickly.

Wordsworth makes a face. “They're exes for a reason. That's a foolish move by all accounts.”

“Blue's not stupid enough to entertain him again,” Thomas points out quietly.

Wordsworth continues to grimace. “More drama is all we need.”

Richard exchanges a look with Severin, and knows at once that Blue's comment niggled the blond too. However, there's a considering look on Severin's face that is both confusing and attractive.

Attraction wins out over curiosity.


	19. Chapter 19

Opening night may have gone reasonably smoothly, but events worsen as the nights progress. Scripts is utterly distracted from Blue's suspicious flowers by a far more horrible disaster.

“But… where's Brook?” Scripts protests to the others as they gather backstage. She looks genuinely panicked.

“Haven't seen him,” Kwento acknowledges with a frown.

“Saw him earlier,” says Blue, “but not in… like a while?”

“He's not outside,” Thomas offers, paying attention for once. “I've just seen Severin though; he was having a smoke saying that Richard was stressed out and sent him away.”

Blue frowns. “Can you check the toilets? Maybe he's feeling sick if he's nervous.”

“He was fine on opening night,” Wordsworth sniffs.

“He better be fine _tonight_ ,” Scripts snaps. “We're screwed if he can't go on.”

“He'll be fine,” Kwento says in ineffectual tones of placation. “Thomas, check, will you?”

The attractive young man shrugs and wanders off.

He reappears slightly later with a small frown marring his ordinarily smooth face. “He's not there. I checked all of them, even the disabled one.”

Blue chews her painted lip. “It's not like him to just disappear.”

“He didn't call in on that occasion he was ill,” Wordsworth points out.

“Yeah, but that wasn't a _show_ ,” Blue responds. “Do you think he's alright?”

“He won't be if the curtain doesn't go up on time,” Scripts states in an ugly voice.

“I'll go check with Rinn whether he knows anything,” Blue offers. She swoops out of the room.

“What if we don't find him?” Thomas asks.

“Kwento...” Scripts begins.

He massages his face. “Of course, Willow, because I can absolutely read as your brother.”

Ruaridh chooses that unfortunate moment to enter. Scripts' eyes light up.

He has enough sense to feel immediately uneasy. “What?”

“We might need you to be understudy. If we can't find Brook on time. I know you know his lines,” she barks.

Ruaridh blinks. “I'm just here to get a bulb for Jamshad,” he protests. “Wait. Is New Boy sick?”

“He's _AWOL_ ,” Scripts huffs. “I'm going to kill him for doing this to me.”

“Get the bulb to Jamshad then come back,” Kwento orders. “We might need you.”

“I'm not an actor,” Ruaridh protests.

“You're a performer, aren't you?” Kwento states.

Ruaridh swallows. They don't usually talk about that.

“I'll get the bulb,” he says awkwardly, crossing over to the storage cupboard.

Blue returns with Severin. “He's not back yet?”

“Hasn't shown up,” Scripts sulks.

Severin looks oddly sick. “I'll keep looking for him,” he states, then quickly leaves.

“He looks antsy,” Wordsworth comments.

“Maybe Richard's gotten sick again,” Thomas says. “That would worry him, right?”

Wordsworth's eyes glitter broodingly. He makes a noncommittal noise.

Ruaridh runs away with the bulb box.

Severin barely notices as the set painter rushes past. The blond is starting to panic. Where. Is. Richie?

Severin hadn't particularly wanted to leave the actor's side in the first place, but he hadn't truly expected anything _bad_ to happen. It's been such a quiet little job: the only worry had been his _feelings_ for the little brunet.

Severin paces his surroundings. Where the hell is Richie..?

What if-?

It occurs to him that Jim might kill him not for dating Richie, but for _losing_ him. Severin cannot bring himself to imagine what could happen to Richard.

He feels fucking sick.

Nothing had better happen to Richie. Not on his watch.

Meanwhile, Scripts bursts past stropping that they need to start soon and manhandles Ruaridh back towards the backstage area. Partly using emotional blackmail and mostly just bullying, she forces a costume into his arms and shoves him into the cupboard to change.

Severin cannot find Richie. He searches the entire theatre and surrounding area.

Richie's gone.

The blond swallows. He had better phone Jim: Richie might be in dire straits if he doesn't.

Of course, Severin's on limited time when he does, but better something happens to him that to _Richie_.

Ruaridh looks down dubiously at Richard's costume, stretched across his own body. He's not happy with this _at all_.

He bloody hopes that Richie will miraculously appear and save him from this fate… but no such luck. Scripts drags him onstage.

When the curtain finally goes down Ruaridh almost flies off of the stage. He catches a glimpse of Richard but storms on past, desperate to throw up.

Afterwards, Ruaridh frowns up at the short brunet.

Richard's covered in blood. Ruaridh pales yet again.

“What the hell happened, New Boy?”


	20. Chapter 20

Richard doesn't speak at first, his hands shaking and every part of him not covered in blood seeming as white as paper. He swallows.

“Where...” Richie's voice seems oddly high and wobbly. He closes his mouth again quickly and licks his lips again before trying to speak once more. “Where's Severin?”

The slight brunet's knees are trembling and Ruaridh guides Richie to slide down against the wall into a sitting position before a probable collapse.

“I'm not sure,” Ruaridh says honestly. “I'm just off of the stage. We'll find him once we've cleaned you up a bit, alright?”

Richard nods shakily.

Ruaridh glances around for the first aid kit he knows is kept in the bathroom and hopes it is properly stocked. Richard is quietly pliant as Ruaridh begins to clean and tend to the most concerning wounds.

Richard frowns as he starts to calm and assess the situation. “You're getting blood on my costume.”

Ruaridh blinks and looks down. “Sorry.” He pulls back a bit and washes the blood and antiseptic from his hands. He then starts to obediently shuck off the pale, easily marked top.

Too tired and dazed to be tactful, Richard stares at the colourful artwork marked into Ruaridh's now exposed chest.

Ruaridh rips a strip of masking tape and drops back to his knees gracefully. He returns to attending Richard's lacerations, doing his best to patch them up with makeshift butterfly stitches.

Most of Ruaridh's chest is painted with a tattoo of Alice and the Red King, with Tweedledum and Tweedledee between them. There are lions and tigers in the air above the sleeping king as though the character is dreaming, and 'go out – bang – like a candle' interspersing the whole image. 

Richard doesn't understand that, and wonders whether he's just too tired. Ruaridh smells like sweat and antiseptic wipes.

It's probably bad to sleep.

...Or is that just with concussion?

Richard frowns and rubs his face clumsily. He can't remember if he took a blow to the head or not.

“That's the bleeding stopped,” Ruaridh announces. He stands to put away the first aid box.

Richie flinches. “Fuck,” he whispers rudely.

Ruaridh looks around at once in alarm, then follows the brunet's gaze. Ruaridh tenses in response but forces himself to spread his shoulders normally. “You really didn't know?” the set painter comments.

Richard swallows and shakes his head. “Sorry, I-”

“It's fine,” Ruaridh interrupts with a shrug. He turns to wash his hands again and continues, “I didn't let them heal properly.”

“Because of that dancer?” Richard asks gently.

Ruaridh straightens, startled, then chuckles darkly. “Yes,” he says in an odd voice. “I didn't take him leaving me very well.”

Richard eyes the poisoned mastectomy scars above scrolling lettering. He realises the scarring near Ruaridh's hip was never from a mere knife but instead a surgeon's scalpel.

Ruaridh rubs his fingers protectively over the writing. _'Well am I her dream or is she mine?'_

“I… I don't have a split personality or anything,” he sighs. “I just… I stopped dancing, but some of the girls still needed tuition, couldn't afford it from anyone else, and I didn't know how to explain, so… It got complicated.”

“Blue knows,” Richard surmises.

Ruaridh nods. “At first I just… presented as a girl when I was dancing, and dressed like me the rest of the time, so everyone kinda knew. But then new people came in, like Scripts, and just presumed we were twins, and… It was easier than explaining the truth.”

“Does it both you?” Richard asks.

Ruaridh shrugs. “Sometimes. But the people who'd mind don't really matter, and the people who matter don't mind it, you know?”

Richard nods. “So you prefer… Ruaridh?”

Ruaridh nods. “I don't mind being Ruby as much now that I don't have to be all the time, but this is… the most me version of me, I guess.” He picks the shirt back up. “Severin's probably worried about you. Do you have your phone?”

“I picked it up, but it got broke,” Richard admits.

Ruaridh considers. “Can you walk? I don't really want to leave you alone.”

Richard pulls himself up gingerly. “I think so. I'm just tired and sore.”

Ruaridh steps close and holds out and arm for the other young man to lean against. “So what happened, New Boy? That creep from before come back?”

Richard looks away. Ruaridh might just have shared an intimate secret, but that doesn't make it safe to share his own. “He had some friends,” Richie says carefully. “I dealt with them though.”

Ruaridh looks around quickly, almost making Richard stumble. “ _You_ dealt with them?”

“I can actually fight a little,” Richard grumbles. “I got battered a lot growing up; I picked up a few things.”

Before Ruaridh can respond, a blur of muscle and worried blue eyes comes flying at them and wraps himself around Richie.

“ _Areyoualright_?” Severin blurts. He takes a breath and takes stock of Richard's tended injuries. “Where were you? What happened?”

“He got beat on, but he's alright,” Ruaridh murmurs.

Severin looks around. “Did you bandage him him?”

“Yeah, I-”

“I'm right here,” Richard grumbles. “I can talk you know.”

Both taller men look down and wince apologetically.

“Are you alright?” Severin repeats.

Richard's expression turns a little shamefaced. “I am, yeah. Stepped outside for some air and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry for worrying you.”

Severin swallows. “I shouldn't have left you alone.”

“I told you to,” Richard points out.

“Yeah, but I shouldn't have listened,” the blond argues.

“Especially when on _my_ payroll,” Jim scolds coldly.

Richard looks behind Severin in horror. “You called my brother?”

“Of course he called me,” Jim snaps, approaching with Sebastian at heel, “your minder isn't _entirely_ stupid.”


	21. Chapter 21

Richard is feeling wobbly, tired and sore. This feels like the worst possible time to have a confrontation with his cleverer and more brutal twin brother.

Jim's expression is closed off as he runs his frighteningly clever gaze over Richie's tended wounds. The mixture of blankness and lingering fury does not trick the beaten actor. Jim is concerned.

Richard sighs painfully and tries not to look too badly thrashed. “I'm fine, mostly.”

Jim advances with flashing, dark eyes. “You wouldn't be hurt at all if you followed my damned rules.”

Richard rolls his aching shoulders in faux nonchalance. “I can't be watched every second of the day,” he counters in a low, reasonable voice.

Jim's expression doesn't shift, but the intensity of his frosty stare makes Richard flinch. “You want to bet, Richie?” the criminal snarls.

The actor swallows and runs a hand through his eternally messy hair. “I don't-”

“I don't care what you _want_ , Richard, I care about _what keeps you safe_!” Jim roars. Big, blond Sebastian hovers uneasily at the shorter man's side hoping that he won't need to step between the twins if Jim loses his temper fully.

Severin shifts a little in his boots, wary of drawing attention to himself but disliking the way hurt flashes through Richie's sweet eyes.

The little actor surprises them by curling his sore lips and indicating himself with both hands. “In case you hadn't noticed,” Richard responds in a soft, cold voice, “I'm not _entirely_ helpless.”

Jim reaches out and snatches his brother's hair. “I don't _care_ ,” he hisses. “You're a _target_ and you'll obey me or I'll _deal_ with you.”

Richard swallows. He can see Severin tensing from the corner of his eye and hopes the blond will have the sense not to get involved at all, and absolutely not get between himself and Jim. Richard reaches up and calmly prises Jim's fingers away, but maintains the touch.

Jim's gaze flickers at the skin contact. He frowns harshly but his hand wraps around Richard's own.

“Don't you think I'm getting a bit _old_ for a grounding, Jimmy?” Richard sighs.

Jim squeezes his brother's hand cruelly. “I'd rather have you sulky than _dead_ ,” he scolds.

Richard tugs his twin's hand towards his heartbeat. “Not dead,” he points out dryly.

Jim uses his other hand to snatch up Richie's shirt. “ _This_ time,” he admonishes.

Richard closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, even though aches on his chest and throat make it unpleasant. “I'm _tired_ of living like this Jim. Being dead might be preferable to being a no one who still can't get to go for a piss by himself.”

Jim's dark eyes narrow. “You'll do exactly as I say.”

Richie takes another deep breath and tilts his chin upwards bravely. “I need a life of my own, Jimmy.”

Jim snorts mockingly. “You won't stay alive very long on your own,” he responds bitterly. “Have you seen yourself?”

Richie shrugs. “Yeah, well, I was outnumbered wasn't I? But I'm fine.”

Jim jabs his fingers into one of his brother's fresh injuries. “And what about next time?”

Richard winces but tries to square his shoulders. His pulse is hammering in his ears but his thoughts are surprisingly clear. “I'll just have to face whatever happens. Hiding's not a _life_.”

Jim sniggers coldly. “Alright, you've said your piece. Now we're going home, and if you're lucky maybe I'll look into somewhere else you can act.” He bares a cool smile. “Then again, perhaps I won't.”

Richie feels ice in his gut. “I'm not leaving the company!”

Jim's eyes widen for a moment at the blatant disobedience then he snarls and grabs the bloodied neck of his brother's clothing again. “You certainly fucking are, Richie.”

“Wait.”

Everyone looks around at Ruaridh's voice. Jim seems incredulous and dangerous whilst Richie, Severin and Sebastian merely seem nervous about the interruption.

Ruaridh clenches his suddenly sweaty palms at the attention. “What… What if you had more people looking after Richie? A team. Could he stay then? Even just until the end of the show's run?”

Richard feels his chest leap with hope even though he's certain his brother won't go for that. He looks across to Jim's face for an answer, but the other brunet's expression is odd.

He's staring at Ruaridh as though some unexpected new thought has fallen into place.

Before anyone can react further a young woman in a heavy leather jacket runs up and halts respectfully near Jim and Sebastian. There are a few rusty-looking stains on her thighs.

Richie gives her a mild smile despite the tense situation.

“We've gathered them and they won't be causing any further problems,” Morgan announces.

Jim nods although clearly still distracted by his epiphany. “Brief Seb, will you? M'busy.”

Morgan nods but throws a wink over her shoulder at Richard. “Saw your handiwork. Quite impressed, mate.”

Richie colours a little as the others look at him. “M'not entirely useless,” mumbles.

“Always knew you weren't,” Morgan smiles. She brushes her gaze over Ruaridh, giving a brief nod, then sidesteps Jim and proceeds to speak in quick, quiet tones to Sebastian.

Jim narrows his eyes between Ruaridh and Morgan. He whips his gaze back to Richie. “That's your set painter. With the butterfly knife. Correct?”

Richard looks confused but nods. “So?”

Jim beckons Morgan back to him with a crook of a thin, pale finger.

She rises her brows questioningly as she obeys.

“You know each other,” Jim growls.

Morgan glances at Ruaridh dubiously then nods. “Of course, how do you think I heard of this place? My niece dances here last I heard. That's why I was able to suggest here to you, for Richie.”

Jim takes a breath then examines his nails. “In what capacity do you know him, Morgan?”

The young woman shrugs innocently. “We used to work together. Well, me and Rubes. You know, before… Ru.”

Jim glances up swiftly and fixes her with a sharp look. “Have he and his sister _been on my payroll_?”

Morgan bites her lip, not willing to correct the mistake. “Yeah, used to be before Ru ended up in hospital with his chest. Figured it was added safety to have our own where Richie was acting.”

As Jim rubs his forehead and demands to know why this information was not shared with him sooner, Richard steps past Severin towards a bemused Ruaridh.

“Did you _know_?” Richie asks dangerously. “Did you recognise my _face_?”

Ruaridh holds up his hands. “I've never seen M before now. How could I have known?”

Richard opens his mouth to retort, feeling Severin step closer to him defensively.

Sebastian clears his throat carefully. “Now that's cleared up, what do we think about Ruaridh's suggestion, Jim?”

The others step back from each other warily.

Jim looks around. “No,” he says bluntly. “Richie's not staying. It's too dangerous.”

“You… might want to see what Richie did to those men,” Morgan suggests carefully. “As long as he actually let Ru and Rinn do their job I think he'd be pretty safe.”

Jim's attention turns to Severin. “He is _not_ working with my brother again!”

“I sent him away,” Richard argues, turning white in fear.

Sebastian clears his throat warningly at Jim.

Jim whips around crossly and stabs his blond in the chest with a bony finger. “You're the only reason he's not dead,” he hisses. “And _you're_ lucky you're not dead for vouching for him!”

Sebastian arches his brow. “Jim...”

The brunet throws his arms up. “No!” he bellows. “No new bodyguards. No staying on here. My brother is coming home with me and staying there. Forever.”

“I'm… totally not,” Richie says almost apologetically.

Jim turns with flashing eyes. “You fucking are!”

Richard stands his ground and meekly shakes his head. “No. I'm staying to complete the show at the very least. And S-Severin's staying with me. I want him around. I trust him.”

Morgan flits a knowing look between Richie and Severin then leans against Sebastian comfortably. He gives her a dry look and without Jim's notice slides some notes into her back pocket.

Jim continues to argue, but to his disgust he eventually gives in to his baby brother's desires.

“You're spoiled enough that I'm not killing him,” Jim grumbles later.

Richard glances at Severin, whom he is still refusing to smile at lest Jim realises the unprofessional depth to the relationship. “You wouldn't. Sebastian loves him, and you love Sebastian.”

Jim curls his lip. “Sebastian can be reminded of his place if necessary,” he states through gritted teeth.

Richie makes an unconvinced noise. “You'd be sleeping on the couch.”

Jim's eyes flash angrily but Richard darts out of the way with practised ease. “Relax, I won't tell.”

The older twin stalks out of the room. Sebastian gets up and follows, with a look on his face that suggests the blond is not entirely reluctant about the methods likely to disable Jim's ire.

Jim almost seems calm when he visits the theatre in a few evenings' time. Ruaridh had (bravely) bargained that he would only work as Richie's second bodyguard if Jim came to see Richie act.

The sight of Jim and Sebastian seated waiting for the performance to start does odd things to Richie's stomach.

Severin squeezes his brunet's shoulder. “You alright?”

“J-Just nervous,” Richard sighs. He leans against Severin's chest and catches sight of Ruaridh rushing about helping to prepare the other actors. Severin follows his gaze.

“Do you still have a crush on Ruby?” Richard asks.

Severin considers then nods. “Doesn't make much difference to me. Both models have their appeal.”

“I think he fancies you,” Richie mumbles.

Severin glances down in amusement. “You, actually.”

“No, I mean, both of us,” Richard explains.

Severin places a small kiss on Richard's temple that feels electric. Stage make up pales the blond's lips. “Can't hardly blame him. We're a fucking gorgeous couple.”

Richie grins. “Maybe.”

Severin pokes his chest playfully. “Don't argue with me. You look far too spankable in those tights.”

Richard giggles, but swats the blond's strong arm. “I told you already; they're _leggings_.”

Severin raises one brow. “They should just call them bulgings.”

Richard glowers and tugs down the front of his tunic. “Shut up.”

“No way, you're wearing that home tonight,” Severin purrs.

“We might be too drunk by then,” Richie muses. His eyes glitter. “Maybe we should stop by the disabled loo before we all go out.”

“Well I am your nurse after all,” Severin agrees lewdly.

Richard giggles happily then feels a shiver through his torso. Severin gives him a curious glance.

Richie looks back at the seats. Jim is missing.

The man clears his throat from nearby. Richie jumps in surprise before filling with relief and confusion. Then he pales.

Severin steps slightly away uneasily, trying to hide his slightly blown pupils and the way he has to adjust his jeans.

“Last night,” Jim declares.

Richie swallows. “Yeah.”

Jim gives Severin a narrowed eyed look which suggests he knows more than he pretends to, and would be quite happy to let a piece of rigging fall on the blond's head if it wouldn't make Jim's two favourite people cross.

Severin tries to keep his expression respectful, but cannot help but grin as Richard steps in front of him defensively.

Jim steps forwards and grips his brother's oddly styled hair, barely noticing the glitter which transfers to his fingers. “Break a leg, brat.”

Richie smiles and leans in to the touch. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

Jim releases his hold and gives an eerily serious look. “Give it your all.”

Richie freezes for a beat. “What?”

Ruaridh rushes forwards and beckons the little actor. “You're almost on. Two minutes.”

“ _Shine_ ,” Jim orders, and pushes his younger brother towards the stage. “We'll figure out the rest later.”

Jim gives Severin another disgruntled glance then heads back to his seat.


End file.
